FROM BAD TO WORSE
by Darke Angelus
Summary: Volume 1 of the BV Trilogy- This tale focuses on the budding romance of our favorite reluctant couple: Vegeta and Bulma, as they face over-whelming obstacles in their pursuit to be together. COMPLETE
1. A Lesson in Humility

The Disclaimer: blah blah blah...DRAGONBALL Z...yadda yadda yadda...copyright of all characters...blah blah blah...the great, all-powerful Akira Toriyama...yadda yadda yadda...C'mon an get me ya lousy Feds!...HAH!  
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This story takes place at the beginning of the three-year gap before the 'Android Saga' begins.  
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FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Prologue

...Wake up, Chibi no Ouji, a gruff voice breathed in his ear.

He snapped awake with a gasp and instantly the first thought to claw its way through the remnants of his nightmare was: Where am I? It was a common reaction borne of years of waking up in unfamiliar territory aboard transport ships and unnamed worlds that never looked the same from one day to the next.

Gripping the arms of the chair he was seated in, Vegeta looked out of the window and didn't recognize the alien landscape that was spread out as far as he could see. In the admittedly early hour all he saw were contrasting lights amid a cityscape of twisting spires and gentle curved shapes. There were no fires indicative of a raging battle, no screams of the dying or the charring stench of death that he was so accustomed to. If anything, the city beyond appeared remarkably peaceful and the Saiyan wondered what he was doing here as a direct contrast to such apparent tranquility. Then it came to him, slowly...

Earth...he was on Earth.

Falling back in the chair with a grunt, he raised an absent hand to his waist in search of that comforting presence and his weary features tightened when he came up empty. Still half-asleep it eventually dawned on him that his tail was gone, another casualty of Saiyan pride and arrogance that this world had effortlessly claimed. He slumped in defeat at the mere reminder. No homeworld, no throne, no people, no tail...he was a mere shadow of a Saiyan now, a ghost holding onto lost traditions nobody cared about. Why did he even bother?

Shaking his head, he got to his feet rubbing the small of his back with a grimace of discomfort. He eyed the bed in the room with resentment and wished he could get used to its soft surface. All he ever managed was a few hours of restless slumber before he ended up going to the chair and sleeping that that arms folded/legs spread pose that years of being in the space pods had drilled into him. It was the only position he found remotely comfortable anymore. It was just another legacy of being a puppet of Frieza he had to deal with in the course of his life.

Glancing at the clock on the dresser he saw with no surprise that it was barely five in the morning. He hadn't gotten more than four hours sleep on any given night since crashing in to the Capsule Corp. yard and it didn't look as if this time was going to be any different.

With a sigh, he stalked off towards the bathroom in the hopes of salvaging something out of this already shitty day...

  
Chapter One - A Lesson in Humility

Still more than half-asleep, Bulma shuffled her way into the kitchen of the Capsule Corps. building in her nightgown and fuzzy slippers and began to salvage something for breakfast. Ever since Vegeta had crashed landed into the compound barely two months ago, the Brief family food budget had skyrocketed. It was six o'clock in the morning and Bulma was hoping to beat the moody Saiyan to the last piece of chocolate cake leftover from dessert the night before. The minute she opened the fridge door, her perspective on the day dropped a notch. The cake was gone. Not only that, there were only two pieces of bread left, both crusts, one apple with a bite taken out of it, one cheese slice, and a bottle of juice with about one gulp left in it. Other than condiments, the refrigerator was bare.

"I should have known..." she muttered. She pulled out the milk carton and swished the contents with a frown. There was about half a cup of milk leftover from Vegetas' assault. When she grabbed a bowl and overturned a box of her favorite cereal, only a meager handful of survivors spilled out.

"Son of a bitch." She placed her face in her hands in disgust. It was going to be a long day.

  
A shower and a change of clothes later, she headed eagerly downstairs to the Research and Development labs on the ground floor of the headquarters building. She, her father, and a handful of technicians were mapping out a new communications microchip that had potential to revolutionize interstellar transmissions; if any of them could puzzle out the schematics, that is. The chip relied on an unheard of decagonal co-dependency that more than quadrupled the speed and processing power of the current one. Bulma was translating the elaborate schematics into the company mainframe to make a three-dimensional image to better understand the chips' function. She'd never admit it not even to her father, but the computational notations that the designer had included with the detailed designs were almost over her head. It was the greatest challenge she'd had since Namek and if Bulma thrived on anything - it was a challenge.

Before she reached the doors of the main lab, Vegeta pushed them open as he was leaving. The pair came to a sudden stop and eyed one another warily before the Saiyan piped up, "You look like shit. Is that the style now?"

"I wouldn't know. You set the standard," she shot back, unruffled.

His lips twitched in amusement, which was about as close to a sincere smile as he got when he was around her. "Good comeback. You do realize that people like you who believe that they know everything are annoying to those of us who actually do."

"Vegeta, your arrogance is only matched by your insignificance. Why do you take yourself so seriously? Nobody else does."

"I'd be very easy to get along with if you could just learn to worship me," he said adding a wry chuckle at her dirty look.

"Enough with the verbal sparring," she said in surrender. "You know, I didn't appreciate you cleaning out the kitchen of everything edible this morning."

"Your mother should shop more often," he said aloofly. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a black, sleeveless tee shirt, on his way to start his morning jog. The explosion in the gravity simulator (Ep.109) had been a week before and she could still see the faded bruises on his face and arms.

"Mom's been shopping practically every day since you arrived, you moocher."

"A Saiyan in training needs to eat."

"Is that so? Well, food costs money, I'll have you know. Not that you give a damn. Maybe you should get a job and contribute to the household instead of freeloading and intimidating my father every time you break something."

"You seem to have this preoccupation with food, woman. You'd be better off coming with me on my run."

Bulma blinked at him. "Did you- Are you implying that I'm out of shape?"

That damnable smirk of his was back. There were some days when she wanted to claw that smile off of his face but she knew she'd never survive the action. "Some exercise would do you some good," was all he said as his answer.

She sputtered for a few seconds and them stepped around him to continue to the lab. "I don't have time for this bullshit. I'm working on something important!"

"You are up early. For you, anyway. What is it that has you so excited?"

"Nothing you would understand, just a micro-chip design. I'd try to explain it to you but it would be over your head." She added a sniff of disdain.

His eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Try me. Saiyan economy was based on technology-"

"-That your race stole from helpless worlds as you conquered them. I know all about how your kind made its living."

Beginning to get angry now, he persisted, "Nevertheless, we did have to figure out how to use the technology in order to replicate it for our own uses. You seem to dismiss the Saiyajin as warlike savages. We were a complex and intellectual race of noble warriors."

"Butter it up all you want to. It was just that arrogance that killed your people off," Bulma said in a dismissive tone. "Now you're just a worthless Prince of an extinct race. I imagine the universe is breathing a sigh of relief over that. I know I am."

He made a choked hiss in response, his face visibly darkening at her clipped words. That vein on his left temple popped out and for an instant, she actually thought he was going to attack her. He ended up whirling away and stalking out of the building, almost bowling over an employee who was coming into work.

Bulma regretted her words immediately. Vegeta, like the rest of the Saiyan's had been forced to work for the very being that had been responsible for the destruction of their homeworld. He hadn't needed her to grind his face into the fact as coldly as she had. He could just be such a damnable, irritating person at times!

She debated giving chase but caught a glimpse as he left the compound to begin his run and knew she wouldn't have a hope of catching up with him. Reporting to the lab, she went to her console to begin the day's data-entry but her mind was not on the job. Several technicians drifted over and attempted light banter only to find her lost in thought and unresponsive. They decided to leave her alone. Eventually, a hand dropped on her shoulder making her jump in surprise and when she looked up she saw the kindly face of her father, smiling down at her. "It's lunch time, daughter."

She sat back and stretched. "Is it noon already? I lost track of the time."

"I think you're due for a break," Dr. Briefs said in an amused tone, studying the monitor. "You've entered the exact same grid-radiant coordinates three times in a row."

She scrolled back and saw that he was right. "...oh. Sorry about that. It would make the job easier if I could talk to the designer just once."

"I told you that the blueprints came from one of the Capsule Corp. labs in Europe and the technician is currently in the field and unavailable."

"I'd like to meet him when he comes back," she said as she got slowly up from her chair. "The guy is a genius. I think I'm in love!"

Smiling for no apparent reason, her father replied, "You'll get to know him in due time, I'm sure. Come along to my office, your mother brought down sandwiches."

Her stomach growled, pouncing on the word and the both of them laughed. For the next hour, Bulma spent the time alternating between eating and ranting over her brief confrontation with Vegeta earlier in the corridor. Her father compassionately remained silent while he listened and waited until she had gotten the anger out of her system before he said gently, "That wasn't a very nice thing to say, Bulma."

She huffed dramatically. "You and mother always come in defense of him. I don't get it. Why do you put up with his bullshit?"

"What would we do? Kick him out into the street?"

"It'd be a start," Bulma snorted. When Vegeta had accompanied the surviving Namek people to stay at Capsule Corp. she had told her parents that he had been an ally that that they had met on the planet, deliberately keeping his origins vague. He barely resembled the alien who, with Nappa in tow, had proceeded to strike terror into every inhabitant on Earth. His uniform looked entirely different and he had even filled out quite a bit more due to his ordeals on Namek. Her parents never suspected his true identity and she had to endure their mild acceptance even while she, and the rest of their friends, knew the brutal truth of the Saiyans destructive past.

Oblivious, her father said in Vegeta's defense, "Earth isn't his home, Bulma. From what you tell me, he has no home or people to turn to. He's among strangers here and views everything he encounters as a possible threat. Now tell me, how can I let my conscience turn my back on him and send him away?"

Her cheeks burned and she found herself unable to meet his eyes. Part of it was that she'd had to lie to her father but the other, surprisingly, was feeling sympathy for the Saiyan. "Dad, Vegeta is a lost cause. He's only here for the free food and the gadgets that you build for him. Once this Android threat is over, he'll move on and forget all about you."

Dr. Briefs considered this very carefully as he examined his daughters' frustration. "You make a good point, I'll give you that. But I ask you; if he is so unredeemable then why is he training at such a maniacal pace to face a battle that isn't even his?"

"It's his competitiveness with Gokou, that's all," Bulma said as her answer but it sounded weak. Her father heard the indecisiveness in her words and kissed the top of her head and went back to work, leaving her alone to ponder his words and her own conflicted feelings.

Before returning to her office, she left the headquarters building and walked around it to the south side where the gravity simulator was located. The circular chamber was rocking in its support brackets as the interior endured one of Vegeta's frenzied training sessions. Before the accident that had leveled the original capsule, the Saiyan had been training at three hundred times Earth gravity. Despite his injuries and the delay in replacing the module, he still insisted on continuing where he had left off. Bulma had given up trying to make him see reason but it worried her that he appeared so driven in his training that it had actually reached a point of masochism. The more severe an injury a Saiyan received, the stronger one got. Vegeta was going out of his way to cripple himself just so he could reach a level that Gokou boasted easily. It was driving him insane.

She climbed onto one of the supports and looked inside the closest view portal. The chamber was active, the interior lit with its red caution lights and the sparse surroundings shimmered as if through a heat haze from the inhuman pressure imposed on it. Directly across from her, Vegeta was engaged in deflecting ki bolts back and forth between several robotic sentries. There was none of the Saiyans usual precision or grace with his parries; his movements were only clumsy desperation. He tried to get to the air to evade one attack and was hauled roughly down by the extreme gravity where only a tight roll saved him from being shot. He was wearing down, even Bulma could see that from her vantagepoint, he was breathing so hard that he appeared close to hyperventilating. When one of the sentry's deflected his ki bolt at him, he managed to punch it away but it created the necessary diversion for the other to get on his blindside and attack. The next shot drove him to his knees and the ricochet of the remaining blast nailed him directly in the ribs before he could bring up a shield of defense. 

Bulma flinched when he heard his agonized screaming but remained on her perch knowing full well any interference would not be tolerated. Beneath her, Vegeta struggled to rise from where the blast had thrown him and coughed up an alarming amount of blood as he cradled his side. He got agonizingly to his feet, his knees threatening to buckle under him and he faced the looming sentries with clenched fists.

"AGAIN!" he yelled to the computer for a repeat of this sure torture.

Bulma was unable to watch anymore of this and lowered herself to the ground even as the capsule began rocking again. She returned to her console to resume her typing but it was a long time before she could will her hands to stop shaking.

Normally aware of his surroundings, Vegeta had been oblivious to the spectator, which was just as well. It had been Bulma's earlier words that had insulted his heritage and, more importantly, himself that had driven him into such a self-destructive rage to begin with. There was no telling what might have happened if he had caught sight of her when he had been struck down. It might well have been the final blow to his ego that would have turned Capsule Corp. into cinders. His intense rage eclipsed even the agony in his side as he leapt and flipped about the chamber, avoiding laser volleys with more recklessness than skill. A part of him that was nagging away at the back of his mind with growing volume was asking why he even bothered with this useless training. He wasn't getting any stronger; it was almost the opposite. At this rate he would never surpass Kakarott.

He lost his concentration at the mere thought of his hated rival and tripped and both laser blasts slammed into his back. He grayed out for several minutes and then struggled to his knees. He retched up a gout of blood and saw that it was dark red, indicative of a serious internal injury.

His training was over for the day. Sweat ran into his eyes like bitter tears, blurring his vision. He lowered his head and brought his fist down on the floor in frustration.

  
That evening, he didn't show up for supper and the door to his quarters was closed. It was the only indication that the Saiyan would ever give that he had overdone it earlier, he would certainly never admit it. On occasions like that he came and went by the bedroom window rather then risk being seen in the house and encouraging unwanted attention. Vegeta's race had been fiercely xenophobic of other species and he was no exception, withdrawing from the Briefs' family unless he needed something. Part of the problem was his damnable pride, Bulma observed. The Saiyan could never simply ask nicely, he had to demand things in an attempt to save face, creating unnecessary tension. She was starting to understand him a little and was coming to realize that not everything that came out of his mouth was meant to be interpreted as an insult or threat. Very often she got the impression that there was a double meaning to his words if she could just take the time to puzzle them out. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure if it was worth the bother to even make the attempt, given its source.

When she collected the empty dishes to take into the kitchen she saw her mother making the final additions to a tray she was going to take up to Vegeta's room. At her daughters discouraging look, the blond spouted, "Well, dear, he HAS been training all day. The last meal he'd eaten was at five this morning and I imagine that he's rather famished!"

"This isn't a bed and breakfast, mother," Bulma said coolly, watching as the other woman put aluminum foil over the plate of leftovers to keep it warm. Despite her better judgement, she volunteered to take the tray up to Vegeta's room and ignored her mothers smug expression as she left the kitchen to go up to the stairs.

The Briefs' had generously offered the stranded Saiyan his own quarters on the third floor of the headquarters building down the hall from their own living area. It unnerved Bulma, who liked to roam the labyrinth of corridors after dark, to have to be careful what she wore in case she bumped into Vegeta, who was also a late night prowler. So far the two had managed to avoid one another and she wanted to keep it that way. She would have preferred that he move out entirely but he had arrived at Capsule Corp. with only his perforated armor to call his own and no money. It irked her that he could conveniently fall back on his pride in an argument but seemed to have no trouble taking advantage of handouts like the ones they were offering him; free room and board and, according to her mother, a generous spending allowance. She figured the Saiyan to be just one big hypocrite because of that fact and it was one of the reasons that she had little respect for him. In his own way, he was no better than Yamcha who had also been a user, but at least the human had shown appreciation for what the Briefs had freely given him.

She reached his room and was going to just leave the tray outside in the hall for him to trip over later. She ended up gritting her teeth and knocking lightly on the door. She tried for several minutes and experimentally tried the doorknob when she got no answer, finding it unlocked. Not sure what she would find, she braved herself to open it and step inside.

The room was quite large with an adjoining bathroom that gave the quarters the privacy he required. It was tastefully furnished with a large dresser on the right hand side where a small TV was sitting, currently turned off. There were no personal possessions visible to her eye except for the battered chestplate of his armor lying on the chair. Her eyes softened at the sight of all of the pain that was etched into the white and gold material. The gaping blast hole over the stomach from Krillin's attack, the cracks and splinters of severe beatings and the smaller one directly over his heart from Frieza that had finally killed him. Involuntarily, she had to submerge a shudder at the mere sight of it. What thoughts did Vegeta have when he looked at that damage? She wondered uneasily.

On the left side of the room was the double bed with a night table beside it. The lamp was turned on low and Bulma could see that Vegeta was asleep, his back to her. She hissed in breath as she approached the bed and placed the tray on the nightstand. The blankets were down to his waist and she could plainly see the immense bruise that covered his rib cage and lower back. She found herself reaching out to touch him when she quickly drew her hand back and left the room as quietly as she came in. For no reason that she could fathom, her cheeks were burning.

"What on Earth was I thinking?" she whispered to herself in confusion.

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Chapter Two: Finding the gravity simulator purposely sabotaged an injured Vegeta provokes Yamcha into a sparring match... It's not so one-sided as you'd think! 


	2. Sabotage and Confrontation

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Two - Sabotage and Confrontation  
  
  
Early the next morning, Vegeta went for his usual run...but he was walking back less than a half-hour later. He'd started coughing even before he had made it a block from Capsule Corp. and when he'd wiped his mouth a bloody froth had clung to the back of his hand. The pain in his side wouldn't be ignored and he abandoned his jog scarcely before it had even begun. He returned to the compound with a look of defeat on his sweat-streaked face and, being a creature of habit, went straight to the gravity simulator.  
  
I'm in no shape for this; he admonished himself even as he punched in the days-training session. He eyed the setting of three hundred on the readout, his hand wavering over the 'engage' button. He figured that if he overdid it this time, the damn machine might just finally kill him.  
  
He discovered he didn't really care much, one way or the other. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the button and prepared himself for the over-whelming pressure that would compress the broken bones of his ribcage like a vice until they perforated his insides beyond saving.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Almost disappointed, Vegeta frowned at the console and hammered down on the engage switch with still the same result. The data display assured him that all systems were ready and waiting but the damn thing was completely unresponsive. He opened the cabinet door beneath the desk and laid down on his back to peer inside the circuitry of the console. He had absolutely no idea what he was looking for but he was getting sick and tired of running to Dr. Briefs or his bitch daughter and having to ask one of them to repair the simulator.   
  
The Saiyan was not as helpless around technology as some would like to believe. He was actually very skilled at dismantling objects to study their inner workings but unfortunately was at a loss of ever getting them to work again. It was his Saiyan blood to blame for that; evolved enough to steal technology but not far enough along to develop any. His time with Frieza had broadened his horizons somewhat, introducing him to alien technical data that would have been forbidden knowledge if he had remained on Vegetasei and been permitted the destiny of ruling the world. There had been times on missions with Nappa and Radditz where he had been able to make makeshift repairs to their scouters or space pods when they became damaged; just enough so they could complete their mission or limp back to the nearest base. The other two could only stand on the sidelines and scratch their heads like a pair of inbred monkeys while he fussed with the equipment. Being an Elite ranked Saiyan as well as Royalty Vegeta wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination and he caught on to things relatively quickly-  
  
-But he was damned if he could figure out why the simulator wouldn't start!  
  
"Let's see," he muttered to himself, a habit he had gotten from Bulma on many of her repair trips to this very chamber. It appeared to help her concentrate. "The display is saying that everything checks out. That must mean that the problem is in the switch itself...now which line runs to the damned switch? There it is!" Selecting a dark blue cable he gave it a direct tug and blinked as everything around him went dark. He had just disconnected a power relay to the data processor and the entire system had crashed as a result.  
  
"Fuck," he said in disgust.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he was walking down the stairs of the headquarters building on the search for Bulma or her father with his shoulders practically up around his ears in embarrassment over the situation. It was easy to explain an explosion that caused damage but he wasn't sure how to phrase what he had done so that he didn't come across as an incompetent moron, which at that moment was exactly how he felt. He hoped that Dr. Briefs was in. At least the old man could be easily intimidated into doing what he wanted. Unfortunately, the company President was away on this day and that left his daughter in charge. Oh happy day.  
  
Bulma was in her office and the secretary was absent at her desk (she had seen Vegeta coming and went to the bathroom to avoid him). Vegeta tried the doorknob, found the door locked and, muttering under his breath brought one knuckle onto the wood in a knock that made the door tremble in its frame. Jumping in surprise, Bulma turned and saw him standing there, her face betraying her surprise until it resumed its normal expression of irritation. She got up and opened it, casting the secretary's empty chair a knowing glare as he stepped inside. "I'm betting that this isn't just a social call," she commented, returning to her computer desk.  
  
He paused for a moment to take one lingering glance around the cluttered area. The room looked as if a small explosion of paper and parts had been detonated earlier. There wasn't a piece of furniture that wasn't buried under books or printed matter and he had to watch his step before he tripped over some half-completed device she hadn't gotten around to completing. In a reflex action, he sniffed the air and almost gagged from the stench. There was an old sandwich rotting away in some littered corner somewhere but Bulma appeared oblivious. His impression of her, poor to begin with suddenly dropped another notch at the sight of such disarray.  
  
In answer to her statement, he grumbled, "No, it's not. The simulator is broken again."  
  
She didn't look surprised. "What's wrong with it?"  
  
"If I knew I wouldn't have to come to you, now would I?" he snapped at her, kicking aside a broken helmet as he stalked across the room. "When can you fix the damned thing?"  
  
"You'll have to take a number. I'm very busy," she said calmly.  
  
He noticed the designs of the communication chip she was trying to decipher for the computer facsimile. He picked one up, studying what was scrawled on its surface before she snatched it out of his hand. "Don't touch," she scolded him as if he were a small child and actually pushed him away from the desk.  
  
His face flushing, he said in a rough voice, "How long before you can make repairs?"  
  
"Two days."  
  
"Two days?! Are you insane?"  
  
"Keep it up and I can make it three," she said. "This chip has top priority. There's already competitive bids coming in and we don't even have the specs translated into code-"  
  
He was shaking his head at her technical babble. "I can't wait that long."  
  
Turning in her chair, she stared at him closely, noticing that he appeared paler than usual, obviously favoring his side with each unnecessary movement. "Tough, Vegeta. Do your jogging, go swimming at the pool, play some tennis, I don't care. But the simulator stays down until I can get around to it. End of discussion." She swiveled back around and resumed her typing, ignoring him purposely. In the background all she could hear was his outraged sputtering until she heard footfalls and the resultant slam of the door as he left. She cast a knowing smile at his retreating back and pulled a small object out of her breast pocket, eyeing it with a grin.  
  
It was the diode to the gravity simulator's engage switch. After leaving Vegeta's quarters last night, she had gone to the simulator and deliberately sabotaged it so that he would have the opportunity to heal. The tactic was unfair, but against the Saiyans irrationality in his training habits she felt it was necessary. Laughing to herself, she tucked it carefully back in her pocket.  
  
Vegeta got back up to ground level and shoved the double doors of the building wide open as he stepped through, blinking at the early morning light. What was he going to do? It was a question that held almost a degree of panic for him. It wasn't as if the reality of being idle was a new sensation. He'd encountered it between missions, after all, and had always found something to do as a diversion. However this was not a planet or a warship that was ordered to cater to his every whim. This was Earth where he had to constantly fight for even the smallest scrap of respect and where everything around him was an unknown. He hated this planet, hated its people and its peculiar customs and, most of all, hated the fact that he was held at its mercy with nowhere to go and had nobody to turn to. He had never felt so alone in all of his life and without the simulator to occupy his mind, he was going to have to deal with it. He found that realization unendurable.   
  
He decided to head back to the simulator and puzzle out what he had done wrong. At the very least a thorough dismantling of the system would give him invaluable knowledge of its inner workings and teach the woman a good lesson when she had to put it all back together later. It might also encourage her to get off her expanding ass faster the next time he broke it. A ghost of a smile crossed his tense features in anticipation of the fight that would follow that discovery. The woman may be a slob but she had a tongue on her that could draw blood and he actually reveled in their rare verbal sparring matches.  
  
"Hey Vegeta!"  
  
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Yamcha, King of the Freeloaders and his floating pet rodent, Paur, waving to him as they came into the compound. He had apparently arrived to make use of the Briefs indoor pool, if his swimming trunks and the towel around his neck were any indication. The Saiyan didn't take him particularly seriously. He remembered how the young human had been the first of Earth's supposed Special Forces to die when he and Nappa had arrived on the Earth, and from a lowly Saibaman no less.  
  
He didn't acknowledge the greeting and only stared back at him resentfully.  
  
"You gonna go swimming, too?" Yamcha asked when he came up to the shorter man, relishing how Vegeta had to incline his head to look up at him. It was a small victory but the fighter took what he could get.  
  
"No," Vegeta sneered. "The chemicals in that smelly water make me itch."  
  
"Oh. How come you're not training then?"  
  
"That piece of shit simulator is down. Again. I just ordered that stupid woman to get off her incompetent ass and fix it."  
  
Paur gave a squeak at his tone and Yamcha's face tightened. He didn't have an intimate relationship with Bulma anymore but he still considered her one of his closest friends. His ego had taken a hard hit the day she had invited the distrustful alien to move into Capsule Corp. He had wanted to discuss his sense of betrayal with her over that issue but considering she had been dealing with his unfaithfulness at the time, the topic appeared redundant. So he accepted her decision but he didn't have to like it. Or Vegeta, for that matter. "Watch very carefully how you talk about Bulma when I'm around, Saiyan."  
  
Vegeta looked at him with bored, half-interest. "Am I getting too smart with you? How would you ever know?" he asked sarcastically.   
  
"I mean it, Vegeta. You had better be nice to Bulma or so help me-"  
  
"-What, human?" Pouncing in his words, Vegeta glared at him. "Are you looking for a fight? I'm bored right now. I'd be happy to oblige you."  
  
To his credit, Yamcha backed down and the last thread of anything resembling respect for him that the Saiyan might have had went out the window. "I'm no match for you," the fighter admitted grudgingly.  
  
"Bet on it. Now go play with your pussy and get out of my sight, you useless idiot." Walking away, Vegeta gave an infuriating backhanded wave of dismissal in the pairs direction. When he got no reaction, he added with a sly grin, "Granted the bitch isn't anything special but she must have been slumming to have put up with trash like you for as long as she had." Yamcha bristled at the comment but made no move so the Saiyan decided to drop the bombshell: "Or an even stupider whore than I figured her to be."  
  
That did it. Bellowing with rage, the fighter threw away his towel and dove for the Saiyan with both hands glowing.  
  
Shortly after Vegeta had left her office Bulma began to get the first stirrings of doubt itch away at the back of her skull. As much as she enjoyed getting one up on the unstable Saiyan this victory didn't give as much pleasure as she thought it would have, seeing his discouragement earlier. As near as she could see he didn't have any hobbies or interests outside of his training to occupy him. Perhaps she should have disabled the pressure setting so that it wouldn't go above twenty. He would have complained about it but at least it would have been a workout for him, rather than her unleashing a pissed-off alien onto an unsuspecting population as she had. If she knew Vegeta at all, he would be just itching for a confrontation, never minding that he was hurt and she was probably just over-reacting to that anyway. She had seen him shrug off worse injuries than a bruised side.  
  
She pulled out the part again and sighed. "Noon. I'll track the little creep down and say that I was joking and that he has no damned sense of humor. I'll fix the simulator at noon. He better be happy."  
  
Satisfied, she went back to work, keeping a close eye on the clock on her desktop. Less than four hours to go...  
  
I'm not gonna last five minutes, Yamcha thought wildly.  
  
He executed two quick flips and narrowly avoided a foot that came out of nowhere and missed his lower back by inches as it sank into the ground to the ankle. Vegeta pulled it free and moved with that uncanny speed of his and re-materialized in front of the retreating fighter. The two exchanged a flurry of blows until the Saiyan's knee connected with the large muscle of Yamcha's thigh, making it go numb. The human fell gracelessly.  
  
Vegeta closed in for the finishing strike and had something warm and fuzzy cover his face, screaming in a pitch that almost burst an eardrum. He grabbed a handful of Paur's fur and flung the creature away with a snarl. "Get away from me, vermin, or I'll find out if you're as tasty as you look!"  
  
Using the thankful diversion to get his leg back under him, Yamcha leapt to his feet and continued the battle. By unanimous decision, the pair willingly decided not to use ki blasts in their joust. He wasn't sure of the Saiyan's logic on the issue but he wasn't discounting his good fortune. Vegeta's martial art skills were of a discipline that the Earth-bound fighter had never encountered before and a part of him was actually cataloguing several of the graceful kicks and parries for later use into his own repertoire, if he survived the encounter that is. There wasn't one piece of his anatomy that the feisty alien didn't use as a weapon, as Yamcha found out when a widow-peaked forehead collided with his nose.  
  
"AGH! Youb son ob ba bitch!" Yamcha howled, cupping his face.  
  
Dancing away from him and laughing, Vegeta taunted, "Don't bring my mother into this or you just might make me angry." He was purposely drawing out the conflict in his boredom like a well-fed cat torturing a half-dead mouse and he was having the time of his life. He actually gave Yamcha time to shake the injury off before they were back trading blows in a frenzied blur that defied all known laws of physics. A small crowd of day staffers had collected at the entrance of Capsule Corp. to watch the fight and they commented in low, hushed toned that the pair moved so fast at times that they actually seemed to disappear from sight.  
  
Yamcha was beginning to realize that the Saiyan was only playing with him and found that knowledge unendurable. Gathering the last shreds of will from his depleted reserves, he attacked Vegeta in a frenzy, actually driving the smaller man into a surprised defensive. With a practiced eye, the young fighter noticed how the Saiyan made a greater effort to block blows aimed for his right side then for the left and decided to focus on that possible weakness. He feinted to one side and made a visible attempt at a roundhouse punch and smiled when Vegeta automatically brought his right arm up to deflect it. With a well-aimed kick, Yamcha brought his foot into the aliens vulnerable side as hard as he could.  
  
Bellowing, Vegeta hit the ground and writhed in agony as he cradled his wounded side. Yamcha figured that he must have kicked harder than he thought as the Saiyan coughed up a mixture of blood and bile into the grass, struggling to rise.  
  
Something wasn't right with this picture... "Vegeta, maybe this isn't such a good idea. Let's postpone this fight for another time. What do you say? Truce?" Yamcha offered hopefully. His own face was coated in blood that was pouring from his broken nose. The gore dripped down his chin and was smeared across his bare chest.  
  
"You started this," Vegeta rasped and paused long enough to spit out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. "I'm going to finish it."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Three: The conclusion of the Vegeta/Yamcha conflict. Also, Bulma learns a startling secret about what the Saiyan has been doing for her father... 


	3. Unforgivable Intrusion

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Three - Unforgivable Intrusion  
  
  
Looking out at the empty chair of her secretary's desk with growing frustration, Bulma left her office to go search for the missing woman. She checked the bathroom just in case the lazy girl was sleeping off an exhaustive night of partying but all of the stalls were empty. The break room was similarly deserted, which in itself was an oddity. There was always someone in here trying to sneak a smoke; usually it was her father. She heard quick footsteps out in the corridor and craned her head around the door in time to see Charles McNeal, a scientist in Research and Development, moving to the stairs.  
  
"Hey, Charles!" Bulma called after him, "Where the hell is everyone?"  
  
"There's a big fight going on outside! I just called Security!" he yelled back and rushed up the stairs in the hopes to see some action before the guards broke up the conflict.  
  
"Vegeta," she cursed under her breath. She would have liked to feel some surprise at the news. The damned Saiyan couldn't even keep his anger in check until noon. Before she went upstairs, she had a stop to make at first.  
  
If Vegeta had been only play-fighting before, now he was going all out, Yamcha discovered to his chagrin. His arms and legs were bruised from deflecting the Saiyans empowered blows and more and more strikes were getting through his weakened defenses. Despite the blood that Vegeta kept choking up, he was cruising along on his anger with absolutely no problem at all. The fighter wanted to end this without a fatality (most importantly his own) and let Vegeta get in behind him and get a successful chokehold. He brought his elbow straight back into the Saiyans injured side, hearing the man grunt in response. The hold didn't weaken and kept tightening. Yamcha pummeled away in growing frustration, the sights graying out around him until the grip finally fell away and Vegeta staggered backwards. Both men fell to their knees, struggling for breath.  
  
"Truce?" Yamcha tried again when he got his wind partially back.  
  
"Never," Vegeta said through a mouthful of blood and was actually rising to continue the fight-  
  
-Only to face a cloud of acrid smoke.  
  
Bulma had taken a fire extinguisher off of the wall and now sprayed it between the two antagonists, hiding each one from the other. "Yamcha, get inside the building! Now!" she hollered at the dazed man.  
  
Seeing what she was doing, Yamcha took full advantage of the diversion and scrambled over to the crowd of onlookers where several people helped him inside. Placing herself between Vegeta and the building, Bulma held the extinguisher in a steady pose intending to give the Saiyan a face-full if he looked as if he was going to attack. "Just calm down, Vegeta-"  
  
"Calm down? That moron started it!" he said but the fight appeared to have finally gone out of him. He got slowly to his feet but remained bent over as he held his wounded side protectively. Bulma saw that the right hand side of his shirt and the waistband of his shorts were soaked in gore and her dread intensified. She dropped the extinguisher and rushed over to him. "You're hurt-"  
  
He slapped her hand away. "Go tend to your idiot lover. I don't need your help," he told her and flew away to the east side of the headquarters building where his quarters resided.  
  
Vibrating in anger, she pinched the bridge of her nose as she struggled for composure and noticed Paur nearby, watching her anxiously. The little creatures fur was all puffed up in agitation. "Paur, what happened here?"  
  
Floating over to her, it excitedly spouted, "You got here just in time, Bulma! It was awful! That nasty Vegeta was going to-"  
  
"Who started the fight?"  
  
The creature's eyes flitted uneasily to the headquarters building entrance where everyone was slowly returning to work. "Well, Vegeta said some really awful things about you and-"  
  
"-And Yamcha, the hothead, decided to defend my honor. How noble of him," Bulma said dryly, unimpressed. "I'll deal with Vegeta later after he's had time to cool down. Let's go see what shape Yamcha is in-"  
  
Paur gave a happy trill.  
  
"-Before I kill him myself," Bulma finished.  
  
  
It was déjà vu all over again as she went to the door of Vegeta's quarters and knocked briefly on its surface before daring herself to enter. She had just seen to Yamcha's injuries, nothing too serious, surprisingly. Either the Saiyan had truly been using him as a convenient sparring partner in his boredom or he was even more off of his game than usual. It was probably a mixture of both. This time she was carrying a first aid kit instead of a tray of food into the room, and this time Vegeta was awake. He was stepping out of the bathroom holding a damp towel against his side when she walked in.  
  
"What are you doing here, woman?" he snapped peevishly.   
  
"Your powers of observation must be slipping," Bulma said, holding up the kit she had brought. She went to the bed and upended the box, sorting through the supplies. When she looked back, she saw that he had yet to move. "You know damn well I'm not going anywhere here until I see that side of yours. The sooner you get over here, the sooner I can leave. Believe me when I say that's something we both want."  
  
"No arguments there," he said in agreement and went over to sit on the bed. He lifted his arm and pulled away the towel and she hissed in breath at the sight. His entire right side was one gigantic swollen purple bruise. There was a tear in the skin between two broken ribs and was still trickling a small amount of blood.  
  
"Vegeta, you need to go to the infirmary," she told him, grimacing at the sight.  
  
"Just tape it up here, there's nothing more anyone can do. It'll heal on its own- "  
  
"You might have internal injuries."  
  
"I do," he amazed her by saying in a calm voice. "I have two cracked ribs, two broken ribs and a perforated lung. Like I said, it'll heal. I've had worse."  
  
She stared at him in disbelief, her blue eyes swimming with emotion. That worried regard only hit the wall of his own obsidian gaze and was immediately deflected. She would find nothing looking into his eyes but her own reflection. "Alright," she relented. "I'm going to clean this first so it'll probably sting a little-"  
  
"-Just get on with it."   
  
He didn't flinch when she dabbed disinfectant directly into the nasty cut and, assured by his tolerance, allowed herself to inspect it thoroughly as she cleaned it. It looked as if a piece of rib had actually pierced the external wall causing the brutal tear. It was small but it was very deep. Pressing her fingers into his swollen flesh she could feel the fragments of bone around the wound, wondering if he required surgery. She spared his face a glance and found that he was staring vacantly at the far wall, his eyes distant and unfocused. He appeared to have gone into self-disciplined trance to escape the pain of her ministrations.   
  
She was grateful for his control. When the nurse in the infirmary had reset Yamcha's nose he had bawled like a baby. Bulma supposed she couldn't blame him but it sure hadn't impressed her any either. As she applied a thick bandage to Vegeta's side and taped it in place, she couldn't help but notice the lack of body hair on the Saiyan's muscular torso. It was the same with Gokou, who was utterly hairless from the eyelashes on down (they used to skinny-dip a fair bit when they were teenagers. Bulma used to always chide the younger man and ask him when he was finally going to hit puberty to actually grow some pubic hair). She wondered if that was the same with Vegeta and realized, with that thick wiry hair that not even heavy gravity could bring down, it would probably be for the best if he were.  
  
She selected the longest elastic bandage in the kit and wrapped it around his chest and waist, securing it in place with a pair of clips. "Finished," she announced.  
  
He blinked and then looked at her before gingerly touching his side. He grunted softly once, nodding to himself. "Is there anything that you CAN'T do?" he asked her sincerely.  
  
"Not too much, no." She looked at him in surprise for a moment before dabbing some antiseptic on a cottonball and raising it to his face. He flinched away from her in annoyance and something more. "I won't hurt you," she soothed.   
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"You have a scratch above your left eye. While I'm here I might as well clean that, too," she insisted.  
  
He relaxed, but only barely. The muscle in his jaw jumped nervously when he felt her hands on his face, gently wiping at the small cut and finding several others, tending to them as well. Sensing his tension, Bulma teased, "You really don't like women getting up close and personal, do you?"  
  
"Truth be told, I'd sooner use my hand. My fingers aren't much of a conversationalist but at least they're quiet," he said aloofly.  
  
She released a frustrated huff of air. "I wasn't talking about sex."  
  
"Really? Then what good are women for?"   
  
She drew back, prepared to swat him and caught a flicker of amusement cross his face. He was actually joking with her, she realized with something like amazement and betrayed an amused giggle. He really could be quite witty when his guards were down.   
  
They stared at one another again and this time, she could have sworn that she saw some hint of emotion in those dark depths, all it would take would be someone who was willing to search for it. Was she up for the challenge? she wondered mildly. Was there a treasure worth finding in that bottomless shaft?  
  
For no good reason Bulma could fathom, she said, "For the record, Yamcha and I broke up several months ago."  
  
He squinted at her in suspicion. "Why are you telling me?"  
  
"No reason. You referred to us as lovers. I just wanted you to know that we weren't anymore, that's all."  
  
Wondering what in hell had sparked this revelation, Vegeta opened his mouth to start in with the sarcasm but, mercifully, broke off coughing instead. Her cheeks flaming Bulma stood helplessly off to the side as he struggled to get his breath. She offered him a Kleenex to wipe his mouth and her worry was back when she saw the flecks of blood on it after he had pulled it away. "I want you to lie down and try to get some rest. I mean it, Vegeta, no forays into the country side."  
  
"No...arguments," he choked.  
  
She gathered the scattered medical supplies and returned them to the kit. As she got ready to leave, she noticed the tray of food she had brought last night was still on the nightstand, untouched. "Why didn't you eat what I brought you?"  
  
He looked up at her and then frowned at the food. "That was you? I didn't know where it came from so I didn't touch it."  
  
She shook her head. "Can't you trust anyone?"  
  
His face was as hard as she had ever seen it when he told her, "Don't take it personally. I've been poisoned before. It's not a lesson I care to repeat."  
  
She opened her mouth to respond but found there was nothing she could say in defense of that harsh confession. "If I bring you up a meal later, will you eat it?"  
  
He eyed her closely, perhaps looking for any sign of threat or deception he had become so used to confronting on all of his travels. There was only sincerity in Bulma's open, trusting face and certainly no hint of any underlining motive. He wasn't sure how to react to that and could only offer her a brief nod in reply as words failed him.  
  
  
With the idea of an innocent swim beaten out of him, Yamcha limped upstairs after he had gotten some rest in the infirmary with the intention of scrounging something to eat before he went home. He missed the days when he had lived here, enjoying the charity of Bulma's parents and the perks that the immense building offered him. His perspective had changed entirely when he got wished back and he felt inexplicably claustrophobic in the building and bored with the prospect of Bulma being the only woman he had ever been with. He realized he needed more. Their break-up hadn't had the devastating impact on Bulma he privately would have hoped. She had apparently made her piece with her grief during her exploits on Namek and had reached a similar conclusion about her own life. She didn't want to be tied down with a relationship either. At least, Yamcha was beginning to suspect, not with him.   
  
In the infirmary, he had been caught off guard by her anger and lack of sympathy to his injuries. Before, she had always fussed over him and cried her eyes out. He had been at a loss to understand her change in attitude until she snapped, "Didn't you realize that Vegeta was only baiting you? What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
Vegeta? his stunned mind was whirling at the indignation in her voice, aimed solely at him. He had suspected more than just the concern of a hostess on the day that the rude Saiyan had crashed into the yard. There had been a way that she had looked at Vegeta that he recognized. Once upon a time, Bulma had looked at him like that; curious, mischievous...turned on.  
  
Was it possible? he wondered.  
  
There were voices in the kitchen and he lingered outside of the door, ears straining for any shred of information that might add weight to his suspicions.  
  
"-Poisoned, are you serious?" Mrs. Briefs asked shrilly.  
  
"I'm very serious and so was he," Bulma responded. "I guess I'm not surprised. His race was...not liked very much in the galaxy. Prejudice was something he had to deal with every day, being the last of his kind. I don't imagine he had it very easy."  
  
There was the sound of a retrained sob on the part of Bulma's mother at the news. That woman could summon tears at the drop of a hat. "Oh! That poor man. I'm sooo glad that you invited him to stay here, Bulma. He needs someone to look out for him, that one. Was he badly hurt in the fight?"  
  
They're not talking about me, Yamcha noticed with acute bitterness. But I know who it is that they are...  
  
"The injury originally happened in the simulator yesterday, that's why I intentionally disabled it. Unfortunately he went and picked a fight with Yamcha out of boredom and that idiot obliged him. Now he had two broken ribs and a pierced lung. The internal bleeding bothers me but he doesn't seem to be worried about it-"  
  
"Bulma! He needs to be in the infirmary!" Mrs. Briefs was practically wailing in her grief.  
  
"I know, I know but he's relented to stay in bed. I didn't think he'd listen to me but he was really rather personable earlier. He even cracked a joke, though it was rather crude..." She giggled lightly and, outside of the door, Yamcha felt a shiver run up his spine. He knew that amused sound intimately and resented no longer being the recipient of it.  
  
Recognizing that laughter herself, Mrs. Briefs said quickly, "I don't want to hear it."  
  
"Anyway, I'm going to bring up a meal for him and wait around even if he is asleep. He hasn't eaten since early yesterday and if there's anything I know about Saiyans it's that food is just important to them as fighting."  
  
Bulma's mother tittered in agreement. They began discussing sandwich options when Yamcha pulled himself away from the door and prowled for the nearest exit. All of a sudden he wanted very badly to get out of this damned house.  
  
Dr. Briefs returned home late that evening and his first stop was the gravity simulator before he entered the house, finding it deserted. He'd had a very long day and wanted nothing more than to retire for the evening but he still had company business to finish. He found Bulma in the living room alone with a laptop on the couch in front of her. She was somehow able to type nonstop into the computer while she watched a television program at the same time. His heart swelled with love and affection for her.  
  
"Hi dad. How'd the meeting go?" she asked as he came up beside her and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Better than I could have hoped. That communication chip is going to be received with open arms."  
  
"If we ever get it to work, you mean," she said despairingly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Blushing for no reason that he could fathom, Bulma confessed, "I hit a wall on the specs this afternoon. It kills me to admit it but I can't seem to simplify the computations enough for the database to recognize the code. I just can't get around it. Given the day I've had maybe tomorrow after I'm rested-"  
  
"What happened today?" He noticed that she appeared unusually stressed and eyed her with growing concern.  
  
Haltingly, she told him of what had happened to Vegeta in the simulator and his injuries following the conflict with Yamcha. "I checked in on him before and he's sleeping. He doesn't seem to have a fever or anything. As hard as it is for me to believe, I think he's going to be okay."  
  
Dr. Briefs was looking up at the balcony to the third floor. "Well, thank heaven for that. And Yamcha?"  
  
"Broken nose. Wounded ego," she said with a verbal shrug.  
  
Not truly understanding the circumstances of the young couple's breakup, Dr. Briefs chuckled lightly and let things go at that without offering any comment. He was a bit of an eccentric at heart, giving his only daughter a degree of freedom and independence that almost bordered on neglect. He had always allowed her to make her own choices in the direction of her life without any interference. He was about to discover in the very near future how his lack of concern would affect him personally and with dire consequences.  
  
"Don't worry about the designs. We'll puzzle it out together tomorrow," he assured her and decided to go to bed after all.  
  
Bulma nodded absently and went back to watching her show while her fingers flew over the keyboard, seemingly of their own volition.   
  
  
Deliberately setting her alarm an hour early, Bulma intended to get down to the lab before her father showed up to give herself a head start. It wounded her personally that she had been unable to make sense of the scrawled data written on the last schematic because without it, the last segment of the decagon design was the final piece of the puzzle that made the entire working model functional. At least in theory. Once she got a bee in her bonnet about something that she took personally there was no stopping her, never mind that this was an inanimate object. For Bulma, technical devices were her passion.  
  
She entered the downstairs of the headquarters building and went straight to her office. As usual, she glanced at her desk and was surprised to see that the blueprint she had been fruitlessly studying yesterday was missing. Choking back what she hoped was needless alarm, she left the room and began to do a search of the various labs. As she neared the section where her father's office resided, she was surprised to see that the lights were on in the room and she could hear his voice,   
  
"-Got to be simplified so that we can translate it to source code. You see the problem."  
  
Bulma smiled, understanding that great minds thought alike. Her father had been unable to let the matter rest himself and had also come down to work early. She could see through a gap in the drawn blinds that the older man was doing his theatrical pacing as he explained the problems. Doing an astonished double take, she saw that he wasn't alone and there was only one person on Earth with that hairstyle; and he wasn't a native.  
  
Vegeta was examining the schematic that had everyone so confused. He picked up a pen and said to Dr. Briefs, "If I alter the code key, will that help simplify things?"   
  
Bulma's knees threatened to buckle and spill her into the corridor as realization set in.  
  
"That might work," Dr. Briefs said in a relieved tone of voice. "Once that is entered, it just may translate all of the computations previously added into our database over to workable code."  
  
"Idiots. You're all idiots," Vegeta muttered as he flipped the design over and began to quickly scrawl out mathematical data. "I've simplified these plans so many times as it is that I doubt the damn thing will even work as it was intended."  
  
"I'll just be happy to see it work at all."  
  
"Humans. The next thing I design for you will be a better toilet. Maybe THAT you'll under-"  
  
"It was YOU?!" Bulma screeched as she threw open the door. "You're the designer of this chip we've all been slaving over?"  
  
"Shit," the Saiyan grumbled and cast a cold glare at the older man. He threw the pen to the floor and pushed Bulma aside as he made a hasty retreat.  
  
"Wait one goddamned minute, Vegeta!" she yelled while in pursuit. "You've got some explaining to do! Why are-"  
  
He flicked a finger in her direction and fired a small ki blast that exploded directly in front of her and blew out a section of the floor. He flashed her a look of pure warning before rounding the corner to leave the building. Rushing back to the office, she found her father sitting on the edge of the desk like a little boy who had been caught doing something wrong. "I wish you could have waited until he had finished writing down the information," he said morosely.  
  
"Dad, what's going on? Did Vegeta really draw those schematics?"  
  
"Yes, Bulma. He did."  
  
Wounded, she asked urgently, "Why all the secrecy? Why did you lie and say it was-"  
  
"It wasn't my idea," he assured her. "It was part of the arrangement."  
  
"I don't-"  
  
"Have you had your morning coffee yet?" he cut in as he led her out of the room. "Because I haven't and we could both really use one right about now."  
  
Not long after, Bulma and her father went to the main lab where they began to talk. At first all she wanted to do was ask questions that had very little to do with what had just happened in the office and were more of an attempt to sooth her wounded pride. She finally shut up long enough to let him explain.  
  
"I saw his potential when he first gave me the designs for the training drones that he now uses in the simulator," he began.  
  
"Those weren't yours?"  
  
He shook his head. "Vegeta apparently used them in training exercises when he was a small boy. He took one apart out of boredom. Bulma, that was over twenty years ago and yet the blueprints he drew for me were exact right down to the measurements. I'd never seen anything quite like that before. I asked him if he had any other designs committed to memory."  
  
When her father fell into stunned silence, Bulma offered, "I'm betting he did."  
  
He gave a quick nod. "That communications chip is only the tip of the iceberg. Being a Saiyan he examined every piece of technology that his employer took in from other worlds. It was just a thing to do between missions, little more than a hobby and that's part of the current problem."  
  
"I don't get it. What could possibly be wrong with such a wonderful gift?"  
  
"Like I said, this is information he gathered while working for that Frieza fellow. He can't even say that creature's name without sputtering. To make matters worse, being a prince he considers the designing of these designs to be a low caste occupation that's beneath him. He didn't want you or anyone else to know that he's working for me, Bulma. This is how we arranged for him to have some finances here on Earth, but he's terribly ashamed."  
  
"Him and his goddamned pride," she muttered. She got to her feet and wandered over to the table and its accumulation of papers that her and everyone else in the lab had been buzzing over for the past week. Her terse exchange with Vegeta in the corridor that day or so ago came back to haunt her and her cheeks burned with shame. The Saiyan had arrived at Capsule Corp. with nothing but the clothes on his back. She should have realized that he would never willingly accept a handout like the Briefs family was offering without paying a price.  
  
You surprised me again, she thought irritably but she was smiling when she looked up at her father. He didn't return the look. Part of it was probably the thought of losing the Saiyan's cooperation but it wasn't all. "I promise that I won't tell anybody about this. I'll never understand the secrecy but at least I can respect it."  
  
"It's not me you should be reassuring," he said quietly.  
  
She turned towards the door. "I'll go track him down-"  
  
"No, Bulma. Let him be. I feel bad enough that I woke him. Give him a chance to calm before you talk with him. He's hot-tempered, that one."  
  
You don't know the half of it, she thought privately but she could see his point. "Okay, dad. You're right. I'll give him his space."  
  
The relief on Dr. Briefs face was answer enough.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Four: Unable to cope with Bulma's knowledge of his secret, Vegeta runs away to parts unknown. It's up to Bulma to track him down before he...dies? 


	4. Wounded Pride

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Four - Wounded Pride  
  
  
Following Bulma's interruption, Vegeta left the headquarters building entirely for parts unknown. Bulma kept track of his absence by the amount of food in the fridge and cupboard and the tension in both of her parents as the days moved closer to a week. Covertly, Bulma went to her computer and called up various satellite images of the more remote sections of Earth and ran them with comparisons taken from a week before. It wasn't long before she saw a pattern restricted to one specific area and she printed off the coordinates.  
  
Her mother caught up to her in the kitchen as she was filling up a backpack with bottles of water and some food. The two met eyes for a moment until the blond handed her that all too familiar medical kit. "Bring him home, Bulma."  
  
"I plan to," Bulma reassured her and went to the Capsule Corp. hoverjet to begin her search.  
  
  
Thirty nautical miles off the coast of Australia, Bulma homed in on the last surviving island of an archipelago that had previously consisted of over twenty small landmasses. She could see submerged craters clearly from the air making the area appear as if meteorites had recently bombarded it. Her hands were clammy from nervousness when she landed on what was left of the main island. All of the vegetation had been scrubbed clean and its surface was pox-marked by craters, one as big across as half a mile. These were slowly filling with seawater as the ravaged island was being inexorably put out of its misery and reclaimed by the ocean.  
  
She found him sitting at the edge of the largest one, glaring down into the craters' depths. He was still wearing the remains of the clothes he's had on that morning in her father's office. They hadn't held up to the onslaught like his traditional Saiyan armor and what was left was little more than rags.  
  
"Vegeta?" she called to him in a hesitant voice but got no answer. Keeping a wary distance, she knelt down several feet away from him and examined him as best she could. Her eyes went first to his injured side and through the tattered shirt she could make out a vague discoloration but that was about all. No indication of swelling or infection and that was good. It was about the only thing from looking at him that gave her any comfort.   
  
"You've come to retrieve your pet Saiyan, I see," he finally spoke up after about ten minutes of silence. His voice was painfully hoarse and when he swung his head around to stare at her she could see bruised half-moons of exhaustion and dehydration beneath his eyes.  
  
"I've come to bring you home."  
  
"'Home'," he barked and shook his head with amusement. "Hah. That's a laugh. You've come to collect your investment."  
  
"Capsule Corp. was a thriving company long before you ever showed up, Vegeta," she assured him, keeping the anger out of her voice. "That's not why I'm here. I...we were worried about you."  
  
"Mind your own business for a change. I'm fine," he snapped back.  
  
She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a bottle of water and attempted to hand it over to him. He slapped it away, knocking it out of her hand and sent it rolling down the side of the crater. His teeth were bared when he snarled at her, "I don't want anything from you. Go away, woman."  
  
Swallowing, she backed away from him without argument and returned to the air-conditioned interior of the hoverjet wondering what she should do next. It was highly likely that the agitated Saiyan was bordering on heat stroke and possibly even delirium. Unfortunately, even in his weakened state he was still far stronger of the two. She was at a complete loss as to how to deal with the situation.  
  
At midday the temperature rose to well over thirty degrees Celsius and yet Vegeta didn't budge from his spot, not that there was anything left on the entire island to retreat to. Bulma was debating whether to make another attempt to coax him back when a seagull flew overhead and began squalling at him. Vegeta fired two ki blasts at the irritating creature, missing both times but a third shot incinerated the bird into a ball of charred feathers. Choosing the better part of self-preservation, she stayed where she was.  
  
Near dusk, storm clouds moved in and rain washed over the area, obscuring her view of him. She pulled out an umbrella and left the jet to at least offer some shelter. This time when she came in close to him he didn't object. There were blisters on his shoulders and his face was flushed and shiny from his exposure. When he wearily looked over at her, his eyes were unfocused and bloodshot.  
  
"Vegeta, if you stay here for one more day, you're going to die," she assured him in a soft voice.  
  
"It would be for the best," he whispered and finally succumbed to his exhaustion as he slipped into a dark faint.  
  
Rather than try to transport him back to Capsule Corp. right away, Bulma erected a tent near the crater and dragged the unresponsive Saiyan into it, focusing on trying to get him to cool down. He had chills, a fever and his pulse was racing; all of signs of advanced heatstroke. She had to work quickly. She ended up pulling him back out into the rain where the torrent would cool down his skin. By the time the deluge began to taper off, he began to show signs of coming around. Soaked to the bone herself, she managed to get him to drink a little water and, while he was still damp, wrestled him into the hoverjet where the air-conditioner would continue to cool down his raging body temperature.  
  
Moving him was easier then she thought it would be. He had lost weight during his weeklong rampage and, combined with his extreme dehydration, they were probably close to the same weight now. It wasn't an observation that gave her any reassurance and her apprehension intensified when she watched him struggle with an onslaught of muscle cramps. He reached blindly out and his hand closed around one of the door handles and crumpled it to pieces as he was seized with a spasm. After that he curled into a contorted, agonized ball. Feeling utterly helpless, Bulma decided to get packed up and return home as quickly as she could so that he could put into the infirmary.  
  
About an hour from home, Bulma heard movement in the backseat and craned her head around to see Vegeta beginning to stir. Setting the console to autopilot, she went into the back to check up on him. His eyes fluttered before focusing on her with difficulty. He began to tense up when he looked around the unfamiliar surroundings with rising panic.  
  
"Take it easy. You're in the Capsule Corp. hoverjet. I'm bringing you back to the infirmary."  
  
He stared shivering uncontrollably and hugged himself. "...Why is it so cold?"  
  
She touched his forehead and could feel that his fever had broken. Relieved, she turned down the air conditioner and offered him a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders as she helped him sit up. Taking advantage of his apparent bewilderment, she handed him a bottle and was grateful when he began to greedily gulp down the contents. She pulled it away from him, "Not too much or you'll get sick. Drink it slow. How much do you remember?"  
  
He savored the refreshing liquid as he slowly collected his thoughts. Finally, he said, "I seem to remember blasting some bird to atoms..." A smile crossed his haggard features before he squinted at her. "You were there."  
  
"I showed up early yesterday. It was last night before you would let me get close to you. You were...very upset."  
  
He grunted and ran a hand back and forth through his lank hair. "Everything's muddled...How did you find me?"  
  
Smiling, she responded, "Your Saiyan temper tantrum was caught on satellite. I just homed in on what was left of that poor archipelago you destroyed."  
  
"It was uninhabited," he countered quickly.   
  
"I know that."  
  
"Oh. I figured you were going to start nagging at me again."  
  
She considered how he had started going on the defensive the instant her voice reached that certain pitch. The two of them were so similar in temperament that they antagonized one another without even being aware of it. Changing the subject, she admitted, "You had me worried there for awhile, Vegeta. You were pretty out of it."  
  
He touched one of the blisters on his left shoulder and winced. "I'd give my left nut for a regeneration chamber right about now."  
  
"Draw up the designs for my father, maybe he can build you one," she teased and saw the cloud pass by over his face at the reminder. "I won't tell anybody what it is you're doing for the company. It's no one else's business."  
  
"It's not that," he confessed to her. "Every time I pick up a drafting pen I swear I can hear my father screaming his disapproval. You said so yourself; I'm the prince of an extinct race. Now I'm reduced to the occupation of a common scribe. It's completely humiliating."  
  
"Vegeta, it's a wonderful gift. You shouldn't feel any shame for doing it."  
  
He didn't answer right away, glowering out of the window at the unfamiliar landscape. The sight only further intensified his feeling of isolation and he forced his eyes away with difficulty. "Some 'gift'. I don't even comprehend what I'm drawing on the paper. Frieza used to call Saiyans 'Domesticated monkeys' and when it comes to technology that's just what we are...were." His voice dropped to a raspy whisper when he corrected himself.  
  
Bulma decided that she didn't like this haunted side to him one little bit. "You made corrections to the communications chip. I heard you."  
  
"Simple mathematics."  
  
"You still improvised on the design, don't you see that?"  
  
"The subject is closed," he announced in a sudden hard tone. He fixed her with a deliberate glare to ensure she understood.  
  
"Vegeta, I'm sorry when I walked in-"  
  
Waving her words away he upended the bottle and finished the water. The leading edge of the city was coming into view on the horizon and the hoverjet began its decent. The anger on his face deepened at the mere sight of civilization. "I wish I'd never heard of those fucking dragonballs," he hissed under his breath.  
  
Bulma would have liked to try and reason with him but the autopilot began beeping and she had no choice but to return to the pilot's chair. She tried to talk to him while she entered the coordinates for home but he had lapsed into sullen silence as he watched the Capital pass by below them. The hatred and resentment in his face increased the closer they got to the headquarters building.   
  
When she landed in the compound the old Vegeta had returned with a vengeance. He threw the blanket aside and opened the door, refusing her attempts to help him even though he almost fell when he stepped out of the hoverjet. Her parents were waiting by the door of the main building as well as one skittish nurse. Vegeta locked eyes with Bulma as she moved in to assist and she saw that burning sense of pride in those black depths as well as an urgent entreaty. She stepped back without a word and let him enter the building unaided. He made it as far as the infirmary before collapsing again.  
  
For the next two days he was in a sleep so deep it was almost a coma and Bulma was never far from his side. The nurse had hooked up an I.V. to provide intravenous replacement fluids and his depleted system was draining the bags at an alarming rate. Watching him as he struggled with some nightmare she gently wrung out a wash cloth in a basin of cold water and wiped away the moisture from his brow. Her parents looked in him from time to time and the relief in their faces was plainly evident when they smiled at her. What would have happened if she hadn't tracked him down? He had stubbornly remained on that island even while the sun had been sucking the life out of him, too lost in his own misery to bother protecting himself. One more day, perhaps two and he would have died for sure.  
  
'It would be for the best,' his words drifted past her, making her shudder involuntarily. She was startled to find herself on the brink of tears at the thought of losing the brash Saiyan and realized then and there that she was starting to fall in love with him.  
  
"Son of a bitch," she whispered but she was smiling.  
  
  
On the evening of the third day, Bulma grabbed several hours of necessary sleep and went to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast before returning to her bedside vigil. The minute she opened the fridge door all of the last vestiges of sleep dissipated and she threw her head back in relieved laughter. It was completely cleaned out; an entire loaf of bread, half of a turkey, leftover potato salad and several danishes not to mention every liquid on the bottom shelf except for that annoying last gulp of orange juice. The infamous fridge burglar had returned with a vengeance.  
  
She ran back upstairs and checked his room. There were a couple of changes of clothes on the bed, clear indication that he had come and gone. Going on a hunch, she found him in the Research and Development lab finishing up on the data he had begun a week before. He squared his shoulders when she walked in but that was about it. He was wearing a loose pair of pants and an open-throated shirt and she could see the hint of bandages that covered the most severe of the burns beneath the fabric. If he had been olive-skinned before now he was absolutely swarthy from his prolonged sun exposure adding to his rugged appeal.  
  
"Dad's going to do a back flip when he sees this," she said coming up beside him when he had finished.  
  
Vegeta grunted his response, eyeing her warily as she picked up the blueprint and studied what he had written. "You know, this won't take me long to enter into the database. Are you in a rush to continue your training or are you willing to hang around while I type this in?"  
  
He shrugged and, encouraged, Bulma led him into her office and offered him a chair. He leaned back, folded his arms and watched her fingers fly over the keyboard. She should have felt self-consciousness with him looking over her shoulder but it appeared as if the period of awkwardness between them was over. His close proximity felt very right to her at that moment and she realized that she could smell his clean scent. Looking at their reflection in the monitor, she caught him looking at her before focusing his attention back on the data on the screen. It had been more than just a brief glance and she shifted her weight in rising excitement.  
  
A short time later she had finished entering what he had written. "I'm going to enter the simplified code to the rest of the main file. Cross your fingers, I hope this works."  
  
"If it doesn't, it's not my fault," he told her.  
  
"Always the tough guy," she muttered as she punched in the final key and then sat back holding her breath in anticipation.  
  
On the monitor, a three-dimensional representation of the alien chip began to combine each side layer by layer until all ten angles formed a perfect decagon. It revolved to various perspectives as the company computer evaluated its potential. All of a sudden the printer came to life and began to spit out sheets of theoretical data from the successful model.  
  
"It works!" Bulma shrieked, jumping to her feet. She threw her arms around Vegeta and gave him a kiss directly on the cheek. He recoiled away from her in shock and fell off of the chair and she landed directly on top of him. Their faces were barely an inch apart as they stared at one another in astonishment.  
  
Vegeta swallowed and gazed wonderingly into her face. "...Bulma."  
  
She blinked down at him and realized, "That's the first time you've ever said my name."  
  
He had never noticed just how dazzling her eyes were before this moment. He could feel a part of himself becoming lost in those azure depths and was powerless to stop it. Hesitantly, he reached up and touched that odd colored hair and she was about to take advantage of his indecision and kiss him again when there was a subtle clearing of a throat by the door, shattering the moment. Dr. Briefs and several members of the morning staff were standing at the entrance trying not to look too obvious while they watched the show.  
  
"Oh," Bulma and Vegeta echoed together. She realized she was sitting astride him, straddling his hips while he was looking at the crowd upside-down. If this wasn't a Kodak moment, nothing was and she quickly climbed off of him, pulling her skirt down over her hips and apologizing profusely. Vegeta looked like a trapped animal as the staff cut off his only route of escape. He was blushing so deeply that his sunburned cheeks were actually purple.  
  
Eager to explain the reason they were celebrating, she announced, "Dad! We just finished entering the last design into the company database. It works! Check it out!"  
  
"Really?" Dr. Briefs walked over to the monitor. He immediately broke out into a broad grin and walked over to the Saiyan who was edging his way towards the exit trying not to be too obvious about it. He actually cringed when the older man advanced on him and extended his hand.  
  
"Well done, son. Very well done, indeed! Congratulations are in order."  
  
Son? It was a word completely alien to Vegeta's experience and he was dumbfounded to hear it. Seeing his confusion, Dr. Briefs seized his hand and enthusiastically pumped it up and down. When the rest of the staff closed in to offer their own praise, his nerve finally broke and he made a successful retreat out of the room at last.  
  
Arching an eyebrow of amusement in his daughter's direction, Dr. Briefs fingered his mustache as he offered her a knowing smile. Self-consciously smoothening out the wrinkles in her clothes, Bulma smiled shyly back.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Five: The tension between them gone at last, Vegeta and Bulma begin to exchange in civil conversation. Yamcha's jealousy rears its head at the sight. 


	5. Civil Repartee

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Five - Civil Repartee  
  
  
Practically before the sun had begun its inexorable ascent of the new day, Vegeta was in the courtyard of the Capsule Corporation lot stretching his limbs in a brief warm-up before beginning his morning jog. He didn't normally bother with such waste of time tactics but his muscles were aching from the torture he'd put his system through the day before. He figured wasting a few minutes might not be such a bad idea before he seriously pulled already strained muscles.  
  
Following that disastrous scene in the lab early yesterday morning, Vegeta had fled to the gravity simulator to cope with his embarrassment and arousal. He had witlessly set it to the extreme limits he had been practicing at, not realizing just how much his little island misadventure had weakened him. He had set it to three hundred like he always did and pressed the engage switch hoping that Bulma had found time to fix it-  
  
-And promptly went crashing face-first into the floor where he had remained pinned like a bug for the better part of the day.  
  
He finally managed to crawl to the console and turn the damn thing down but by then the damage had been done. It didn't ease his frustration to have to acknowledge the fact that he was now reduced to the same level he had originally started at; losing well over a month of precious acclimation to the simulator and now having to start all over again basically from scratch.  
  
And all because of a stupid woman!  
  
He still had no explanation for his over-reaction to her finding out that he was working for her father. None of it made any sense. For some reason he had found her knowledge of his secret to be completely unendurable. He really didn't know what was worse; To be pushed over the brink of sanity worrying about what the stupid woman must think of him or having her track him down and bring him back like some lost mongrel. Either scenario was dreadful and both had happened and now he had to grapple with what had happened in the lab-  
  
Without meaning to he absently touched his left cheek, the one she had kissed in her excitement. Her lips had seemed like a brand on his over-heated flesh. He wouldn't have been surprised to look in a mirror and see that mark etched there in stark relief. The vision of her deep blue eyes only mere inches from his own had haunted his dreams last night, making him wake up in sweaty frustration. There had yet to be night since he had arrived on this backwater planet where he'd had a proper night's sleep and his nerves were beginning to wear down from the strain. He was dismayed to find his emotional defenses were also in tatters against the strength of this woman who appeared ignorant of her true power over him. This was a battle where he had no experience to boast, he would have to be on his guard against her. He was accustomed to taking what he wanted and leaving with his cohorts without the concept of a conscience. Murder, rape, theft, chaos; they had all been the same to him, a diversion to his own madness but for some reason everything had changed.  
  
HE had changed.  
  
"Not for the better," he muttered as he finished with his exercises and figured he was as ready as he ever would be. "It can't possibly be for the better."  
  
"Talking to yourself," remarked a distinctly feminine voice from behind him. "Tsk.Tsk. That can't be a good sign, Vegeta."  
  
He visibly stiffened and glowered over one shoulder as Bulma approached with that damnable pleasant smile of her. She was wearing a tight spandex tank top and a pair of shorts and...his eyes never got any further as they crawled over the top again. "What are you doing here, woman?" he asked gruffly.  
  
She caught sight of one bruised cheek. "What happened to you?"  
  
"I'm having a shitty month. You didn't answer my question."  
  
"I'm taking you up on your offer."  
  
"...my offer..."  
  
"Remember? Outside of the lab in the corridor? You invited me to come and join you for a morning jog. You said I could use the exercise, so here I am."  
  
"I told you that almost two weeks ago!"  
  
"And like I said, 'here I am'," Bulma said smugly. "Are we gonna talk the morning away or hit the trail?"  
  
"Fine. Try to keep up if you think you can. I'm NOT going to slow down for you."  
  
"I didn't expect you would."  
  
With a huff Vegeta started his jog out of the courtyard while Bulma kept even pace with him, still smiling that knowing little grin. He debated breaking into a desperate sprint to be rid of her but his eye had begun to track the pendulous rise and fall of her generous chest as she kept in step beside him. He decided that maybe, just maybe, the view might be worth the price of putting up with her.   
  
Bulma's private amusement increased as their jog took them into the city's main park and he still showed no sign of abandoning her. She had deliberately bought her top one size smaller than what she usually wore just for this intended reason. It wasn't comfortable but against the Saiyan's arrogance, a girl had to use what tactics she could.  
  
It was surprising how many other people were in the park running the trails despite the obvious early hour. She realized that Vegeta must keep to the same paths as several other jogging enthusiasts offered a wave at him as he passed by, a common greeting among kindred spirits. The Saiyan merely offered an acknowledging nod, if anything at all. It depended on the gender of the greeter.  
  
Despite the fact that Bulma considered herself in reasonably good shape, she knew she was going to have to call a time-out to rest for a minute, whether it ended their companionable session or not. She barely had opened her mouth when another woman came up on the other side of him.  
  
"Morning, Vegeta. Haven't seen you around in awhile," the woman said pleasantly. She was a full head taller and her chest (obviously implants, Bulma noted with acidic jealousy) was at his eye level. Submerging a smile, Vegeta's impression of the day was improving by the minute.  
  
"I've been busy," he said neutrally.  
  
"Yeah, I can see that," the woman remarked, eyeing his bruised face and sunburned arms. "You look like hell. Who's your friend?"  
  
"My name's Bulma. Bulma Briefs," she said, relieved to be included in this enigmatic exchange. She extended a hand.  
  
The woman took it gracefully. She was a beautiful brunette whose dark shin and eyes almost rivaled Vegeta's. "Briefs...of the Capsule Corp. Empire?"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't call it an-"  
  
"Now I know why you've been turning me down," the woman said as she turned back to him, rudely excusing Bulma who began to fume on the sidelines. "I can't compete with that. Let me know when you want something...more exotic."  
  
"I won't," he said and the woman shot him a sour glance and then pulled ahead of them.  
  
"What a bitch!" Bulma hissed, not even waiting until she was out of earshot. Vegeta's smirk was back, it had been shelved for quite some time. "Who was she?"  
  
"Don't know. Don't care."  
  
"She sure seemed to know you."  
  
"Once in awhile she joins me on my run. If she wasn't so stacked I'd jog somewhere else."  
  
"Gosh, she sure looks familiar," Bulma said, more to herself.  
  
"She said she does movies. I think that was supposed to impress me, for some reason," he told her in a bored tone of voice.  
  
The name finally came to the face and she stumbled in her shock, nearly falling down. "Ohmigod! That was Dorothy Pereaux!"  
  
"So?" Vegeta asked in irritation. He wanted to get on with the run and do away with this useless chatter.  
  
"Yamcha and I saw a movie of hers not too long ago. She's a movie star! I-I don't believe it. I have to sit down-" she staggered over to the nearest bench and hunched over trying to get back her breath. Vegeta kept running until he discovered he was alone and reluctantly came walking back. "What's the damn problem?"  
  
"It's hard to put into words," she said as a lame excuse. It unnerved her that all of this time on Vegeta's jogs he was keeping company with the likes of the infamous Ms. Pereaux while she thought he was off alienating everyone in the city. "I mean, she's famous-"  
  
"Bah. The slut is all artificial. She's got nothing on you," he commented.  
  
"The thought of her-" Bulma gave him an astonished double-take as his terse statement sank in. "What did you just say?"  
  
Realizing he had just given her a compliment Vegeta cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Are we going to continue our run or not?"  
  
"I think I'm done in, Vegeta. Now about what you said-"  
  
"I knew you were out of shape," he said smugly and resumed his run without her.  
  
Bulma let him go, too winded to try and stop him and force him to repeat what he had said. She'd heard enough to bring a smile to her sweaty features. When her legs stopped shaking, she slowly walked back home feeling tired but relieved that she had made the effort this morning to join him.  
  
When she entered the Capsule Corp. compound, she saw Yamcha cleaning out one of the storage capsules. Paur caught sight of her first and started to trill in excitement and she had no choice but to wander over. When he stepped outside and saw her, his eyes bulged and Bulma had never wished for a jacket to cover herself up so much in her life.  
  
"Where were you?" he asked bluntly, not bothering with the usual formalities.   
  
"I went jogging with Vegeta."  
  
Yamcha gaped at her. "Wearing THAT?" He could remember the odd time that he had managed to coax her to come along on one of his own jogs. She had worn baggy sweatpants and a tee shirt several sizes too big for her that had hung practically down to her knees. He was unable to pull his eyes away from her strutted nipples clearly visible against the straining fabric.  
  
She crossed her arms self-consciously across her chest. "I didn't receive any complaints," she said aloofly.  
  
"I'm surprised the little shit noticed," he said bitterly, wounded by her attitude. "I had him figured to be a closet fag."  
  
"You can shelve that theory. He's definitely not."  
  
Yamcha's face darkened as he waited for a further explanation and didn't get one. That smug look of accomplishment on her face was like a kick to the groin to him. He considered himself a great catch and God's gift to women and all of a sudden here was some prick-haired little shit intruding on his turf and turning the tables. His deep rage grew.  
  
"What're you doing?" she asked lightly, knowing she had hit a nerve and relishing in it.  
  
"Your father asked me to make some room in this storage capsule. I'm doing it as a favor but I don't know why he doesn't ask Vegeta to do it. All that runt does is freeload and you all just seem to put up with it."  
  
"Don't you worry about it. Vegeta earns his keep," Bulma said with a grin adding a suggestive wink. Deliberately puffing out her ample bosom, she gave him a wave and walked away. Behind her, Yamcha muttered a stream of oaths and went back to work. He was through being patient and she heard glass shatter inside the capsule, immediately followed by outraged curses.  
  
  
The morning jog became something of a routine between the two that Bulma actually began to look forward to even though she was far from a morning person. Some days Vegeta would tolerate her attempts at conversation and on others he would bluntly tell her to shut up. She was never sure if he liked her tagging along or not, he never came out and told her one way or the other. Encouraged, she deliberately set her clock each and every morning to join him.  
  
She discovered the answer to that concern when she woke up one morning, looked at her clock and discovered she had overslept by over an hour. "Oh, damn!" She jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on a change of clothes and sprinted out of the building in hopes of catching up to the Saiyan in the park. Just as she reached the final storage capsule on the lot she saw Vegeta leaning beside it, looking irritated and bored.  
  
"I missed our run!" she said with dismay. "I'm sorry. I overslept."  
  
"I haven't started it yet," he told her.  
  
A flattered smile crossed her face. "You...were waiting for me all this time?"  
  
"Call it what you want. Let's go. I've wasted enough time on you, woman," he said roughly and turned to start the run. Bulma was practically skipping as she fell into step beside him. She could scarcely believe that he had actually postponed his driven routine to wait for her to show up. She couldn't get the smile off of her face even though his features were set in stone and just as cold when she looked at him. His aloofness didn't matter, his actions spoke louder than mere words.  
  
Bulma had more than doubled her distance and endurance in her morning efforts and no longer had to call out frequent time-outs to catch her breath while he grumbled on about her mothers' insistence to buy sweets. About three kilometers into the run, the pair stopped at a vendor's cart and she chose a pretzel since she hadn't had time for breakfast. Vegeta bought a juice and paid for both items.  
  
"Danke schon," the cart owner said.  
  
"Nichtz zu danken," Vegeta responded, sipping his drink and walking away.  
  
The pretzel was halfway to Bulma's mouth when she stared at him. "What was that? You were speaking German!"  
  
"Was I? Radditz must have transmitted some German broadcasts to my scouter, the idiot."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked as they wandered off the main path. At this later hour mothers pushing strollers and pulling toddlers were replacing the joggers. Vegeta resented having to pass around these slow obstacles, particularly when Bulma paused long enough to coo at one baby or another, interfering with his stride. He couldn't understand what all of the fuss was about; the stinky little humans were even uglier than the adult ones.  
  
To her question, he finally answered, "Radditz was the initial scout to this world. He automatically transmitted all of Earth relevant broadcasts and scans to our own scouter database. As Nappa and I traveled to Earth, all of that information was transferred to us while we were in stasis."  
  
"That's why your English is so flawless," Bulma said in amazement. She had always wondered how the Saiyan could have had such an expert handle on Earth slang and profanity even before he had actually set foot on the planet.  
  
"That was standard protocol to every world we ever approached. I've been downloaded with literally hundreds of different languages during my missions. Fortunately, the new language automatically overwrites the old one or a soldier would go insane from the overload."  
  
Chewing thoughtfully on her pretzel, she remarked, "Now that would be a handy thing to use."  
  
"You still have the remains of Radditz's scouter. Figure it out. It's not as if he's going to be needing it." He snorted in amusement.  
  
"Vegeta, don't you miss them? You grew up with Radditz and Nappa. You three were the last Saiyans, except for Gokou, to survive your homeworld's destruction. How do you feel now that they're gone?"  
  
He didn't answer right away, watching the young mothers as they gathered in informal little herds while their spawn clambered over a nearby jungle gym like unruly cockroaches. If things had gone his way, this city would now be a desolate crater and the Earthlings a vague memory. He would have had his mantle of immortality and ruled the universe by now. Instead, he was standing in the park drinking an apple juice like a native accompanied by a female sidekick whose father he worked for to make ends meet. Could things have gotten any more fucked up?  
  
"I would have eventually killed them anyway," he told her, adding," They were weak."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense."  
  
"Not to you, it wouldn't. You're not a Saiyan. Don't presume to question my logic, woman."  
  
He was losing his patience, she noted and dropped the subject before things got messy. Bringing up Vegeta's past was like stepping onto a field full of landmines without a map. Some things he talked about, other issues he avoided completely. She had just learned that Nappa and Radditz were off-limits. Finishing her breakfast, the two resumed their run through the landscaped grounds of the park.  
  
"Vegeta, how old are you?" she finally piped up.  
  
"Shit. Here we go again," he grumbled under his breath. He was deeply regretting the decision to wait for her to show up this morning. He vowed never to make that mistake a second time that's for certain. With her getting in that extra hour of sleep she was too wide-awake to keep her damn mouth shut. "Kakarrot was born five years after I was."  
  
"So you're thirty-one."  
  
"I guess..."  
  
"Now, what's that supposed to mean?"  
  
Looking at her sidelong, he explained, "Time is relative. I shouldn't have to explain that to you. The space pods are faster than light and I've spent nearly a quarter of my life traveling in them."  
  
She understood what he was driving at. "Chronologically, you're thirty-one. Physically, you're somewhere in your twenties."  
  
"Something like that. Yeah."  
  
"Huh. Now I'm not so sure being a year younger is a good thing or not," she confessed.  
  
"Old, young, it doesn't matter to me if you would only SHUT UP!" he finally shouted into her face. Several heads turned at the sound and one little girl nearby burst into noisy tears.  
  
Bulma's face reddened and she slowed her pace. "I-I'm going to head back. I've...uh, got work to do."  
  
"Good deal," he growled and sped up his pace to finally be rid of her. Bulma watched him go with mixed emotions, oblivious of the young mother who was trying to sooth her distressed child.  
  
"Let him go, honey," the woman told her directly. "You'd be better off."  
  
Frowning, Bulma turned to look at her. "Excuse me?"  
  
"That guy," she nodded after Vegeta. "I know the type. I was attracted to a bad ass myself even though my friends tried to tell me he was no good. I wouldn't listen. When he knocked me up he left town and I never heard from him again."  
  
Bulma got down at eye level to the little girl and tried to get her to smile. "Your daughter is beautiful."  
  
"Her beauty doesn't pay the bills," the woman snapped back.  
  
The little girl cringed in acute misery at her mothers' harsh words. Bulma began to hear the distant ticking of her own biological clock when the girl raised her deep brown eyes to look up at her. Any liaison that could produce such a little beauty had to be worth any trouble. Then again, she was obviously in a different set of circumstances than this woman and her opinion wasn't relevant. Not everyone had a family fortune and strong parental support to fall back on. The woman in front of her was obviously struggling to make ends meet.  
  
"Trust me," the woman continued. "Get out of the relationship while you still have your sanity. And your figure. That guy is bad news."  
  
"Thanks for the tip but I know how to look after myself," Bulma said icily.   
  
The embittered woman picked up her daughter and shot her one cool look as she retorted, "You're too far gone, I can see I'm just wasting my breath. Just remember that I tried to warn you."  
  
Before Bulma could come up with a sarcastic retort, the woman stalked away with what she clearly regarded as a burden and not the special little gift she truly was. The girl raised a little hand and waved good-bye and, her heart aching, Bulma returned it sadly. Those miserable pools of brown stayed with her for most of the day.  
  
  
The next morning the tables were tuned as Bulma found herself waiting for Vegeta to show up for their morning ritual and after an hour, there was still no sign of him. She had blown it with her insistent questions the day before and he had abandoned her out of spite. She resented stepping on eggshells whenever she was around him and decided that all of this grief just wasn't worth it. The woman in the park was right. He was a lost cause.  
  
Turning, she started back for home and caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of her eye coming towards her. Her heart in her throat, she faced the figure expectantly.   
  
Yamcha was there, wearing bicycle shorts, a tight muscle shirt and a gloating little smile. "All dressed up with no one to run with, Bulma," he remarked lightly. "I'm not five feet tall and mean as hell but will I do?"  
  
She knew she was never going to hear the end of this one but at the very least, she might see Vegeta in the park and have the opportunity to rub the alien's face into it. Giving Yamcha a hard shove, she barked, "Shut up and run."  
  
It didn't last very long. The ex-lovers had barely reached the entrance to the park when the questions started. Bulma realized right then and there just how distracting it was to try and brood and intercept a barrage of inquiries at the same time. It was a real eye opener for her.  
  
"He stood you up. What do you see in him, Bulma?" Yamcha piped up.  
  
"It's none of your business."  
  
"He's not even your type."  
  
She shot him a hard look. "Who precisely is my type? You?"  
  
"Yeah, me," he said defensively. "I'm a great catch. I'm tall, have a great personality and I know just how to treat a woman right."  
  
"Is that a fact." She released a bitter snort, "Huh. And I thought Vegeta had the over-inflated ego."  
  
Definitely resenting any comparison between himself and the brash Saiyan, Yamcha's face flushed in anger. He settled into a moody silence for awhile and just as Bulma's thoughts began to drift again he brought her back to reality with, "You never told them, did you?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"   
  
"Your parents. They don't know anything about what Vegeta has done in the past, do they? All of those horrible things, all those people he's killed. You lied to them."  
  
Struggling with her indignation, she managed to say in a level voice, "I told them what was relevant; we met him on Namek and he helped us out, which was the truth. Telling them the rest would have accomplished nothing."  
  
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I think your parents deserve to know that they have a cold-blooded killer living in their house who could go ballistic at any time and level the damned city, Bulma! What the hell were you thinking by not warning them?"  
  
"Vegeta has changed, Yamcha. He became different when he got wished back-"  
  
"I also got wished back. Do you remember how I died? I got slaughtered because that little bastard tried to take over the Earth. Does any of that ring a bell?" He was close to shouting now in his growing rage. Head's were starting to turn and she wrestled him over to a tree to try and calm him down.  
  
"I was devastated when you died, Yamcha," she said sincerely, looking up into his anguished face. "I was inconsolable. I had dreams of us getting married and having children and living happily ever after. Why else would I have risked my life to travel to Namek in the hopes of retrieving the Dragonballs and wishing you back into my life?"  
  
His mouth worked as he struggled for words. Finally, he was able to get out, "What happened, Bulma? What changed?"  
  
"Nothing. Everything," she confessed unhappily. "I went through hell on Namek. We all did. Me, Gohan, Krillin. Especially Vegeta. Gokou and Piccolo arrived too late to really offer any kind of assistance. We were on our own. But at the same time that spoiled little part of me finally gave away and I found my own independence. It was a real shock to be on my own, and I liked it."  
  
"It doesn't explain your fascination with someone like Vegeta," he said bitterly.  
  
"Yamcha, we've been a couple since were teenagers. You're a sweet guy but when you got wished back, you changed and not for the better." There was only brutal honestly in her softly spoken words but the young fighter didn't bridle very well as he started fidgeting in place. "You wanted to play the field, see other women, the thought of commitment was the furthest thing from your mind. I realized that and I let you go." Bulma chewed the inside of her cheek as she looked out into the park and Yamcha knew who she was searching for. "Vegeta was tortured to death by that monster Frieza and when he came back he was different, in a good way. The cruelty got beaten out of him. I think he genuinely wants to help the Earth this time but doesn't know really what to do or how to go about it. He needs me now, Yamcha. You don't anymore. You haven't for a very long time and that's what I do best; Help people. That need, that desperation is what attracts me to him."  
  
Baring his teeth at her, Yamcha hissed, "You're being a love struck idiot! He's evil and untrustworthy and you're placing the entire Western Capital in jeopardy by letting him stay here. He's going to kill you all!"  
  
"Don't make accusations about someone you don't even know," she said, on the edge of serious anger herself. "I can understand that you're jealous, Yamcha, but for god's sake can you try to pretend to be a man for once?"  
  
He grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him. "I'm just trying to stop you from making a serious mistake. Give me another chance, Bulma. Please!"  
  
"Would you be acting so desperate if I were attracted to someone else other than Vegeta?" she asked in a hard voice, her blue eyes boring into his own.  
  
Yamcha couldn't come up with the words for a rebuttal and she pulled her arm free. "I didn't think so. We are through, Yamcha. You didn't know what it was that you wanted before and that hasn't changed now."  
  
"He's only going to hurt you!" he yelled at her.  
  
"No one could hurt me as badly as you did!" she screamed back and sprinted away as tears came to her eyes. He watched her anguished retreat, his hands clenched into fists by his sides and his scarred face twisted with bitter hate.  
  
"Vegeta," he growled.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Six: It's the inevitable First Kiss between Vegeta and Bulma! Unfortunately, Yamcha has had enough and turns to her parents with the true past of the evil Saiyan hoping to cause conflict. It works with disastrous results! 


	6. Hesitant Kiss

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Six - Hesitant Kiss  
  
  
Bulma didn't want to go into the house where she might run into her mother who would comment on her distress. Instead, she chose to head back to her office and slammed the door. She was about to sit in front of her computer when she glanced at her desk and released a startled gasp of surprise.  
  
There were two new blueprints lying over the cluttered surface. Picking one up in confusion, Bulma stared at it in amazement when she recognized the handwriting almost immediately. "I'll be damned..."  
  
She left her office and went down the hall to the drafting department. The door was partially ajar and all of the lights were still on. When she peered inside all of her previous animosity and resentment went out of her in a rush. Smiling broadly, she slipped away as silently as she came in.  
  
  
After losing his temper with Bulma in the park the previous morning, Vegeta had felt absolutely no sense of accomplishment when he had left her behind. When he had spent the remainder of the day in the simulator, the hurt on her face had plagued at him, interfering with his concentration. He rationalized that it was normal for her to be curious about him. What human wouldn't be? He should have been flattered by the attention so why was it such a damn bother! The Briefs woman appeared trustworthy with no motive behind her probing questions other than an insistent curiosity that was almost childlike. He was so used to having his back against the wall as he faced hatred for being a Saiyan, he was unprepared for innocuous and simple unthreatening interest. Vegeta realized that it was a refreshing diversion to intercept questions rather than insults. He didn't want that to change but he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to encourage it, either.   
  
Late that evening during his usual struggle to sleep it dawned on him how he could possibly make it up to her. Bulma had been surrounded by athletic male figures for all of her life. Displays of power or physical effort meant nothing to her. He had observed her excitement when she had been in front of her computer entering the data that he had written down for her. That was the key right there and he got out of bed, got dressed and went downstairs to the drafting room where he stayed for the rest of the night.  
  
He was stretched out on the couch in the department with an arm over his eyes to shut out the light. A clipboard was lying on his chest, a pencil loosely clenched in one hand. At somewhere around five in the morning, he had taken a break to puzzle out a computation that seemed to elude him and had finally succumbed to his exhaustion.  
  
The heady smell of coffee slowly brought him around and when he opened his eyes he realized he had fallen asleep. It was now light outside and Bulma was standing over him holding a mug of coffee in each hand, still wearing her jogging clothes.  
  
"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up and accepting the proffered beverage.  
  
"Almost eight."  
  
He rubbed his burning eyes with a grimace. "Shit. Give me a few minutes and I'll get changed-"  
  
"That's alright. I just got back." She decided it would be for the best if she left out Yamcha's participation. "If it's any consolation, it's not the same running without you. I missed your biting sarcasm."  
  
"Thanks, I think," he grumbled, drinking his coffee and suddenly scowled into the mug. "What is this? De-caf?"  
  
"You're hyper enough as it is," she said in amusement.  
  
"Not this morning, I'm not."  
  
Looking at him more closely as he nursed his drink, she watched as he visibly struggled to snap out of his daze. "I'm worried that you may not be getting enough sleep. Is there something wrong?"  
  
He got to his feet with a grunt and wandered over to the drafting table. "Have you seen the designs I left on your desk?"  
  
She hated it when he changed the subject with such obvious scorn. "I took a glance at them but Vegeta-"  
  
"I recalled an exhaust system that Frieza's scientists had been dissecting," he told her. "It recycled the external combustion and powered all of the electrical systems in a closed-circuit exchange-"  
  
"Vegeta, you're babbling."  
  
He glared at her levelly. "I don't babble. I thought the schematics would interest you."  
  
"The design is intriguing," she said honestly. "Right now I'd sooner talk to you about-"  
  
"Bah! Why did I even bother?!" he shouted and suddenly kicked over the drafting table in anger.  
  
Jumping out of the way, Bulma looked at him in confusion. "Vegeta! What's the matter with you?"  
  
"You! You're the matter!" He screamed at her, throwing the mug against the nearest wall. His blue ki erupted around him without his being aware of it. "I get up in the morning - YOU'RE THERE! I leave the simulator - YOU'RE THERE! Everywhere I turn - YOU'RE THERE! Now I can't even sleep at night without you intruding in my dreams. You. Are. Driving. Me. CRAZY!!"  
  
Bulma had been entirely oblivious that she'd had any kind of an affect on him. He was such a master of concealing his emotions that this crazed confession took her entirely by surprise. The two regarded one another through a wall of tension until she confessed to him in a small voice, "I haven't been sleeping very well either. I've been dreaming about you, too."  
  
Confusion replaced the rage on his face. Eventually he dropped his self-protective shield of energy and only stood in front of her, utterly defenseless. "What does that mean?"  
  
She cleared the distance and took one of his hands into her own. It was surprisingly smooth as she traced the lines on his palm with a fingernail. If he wanted to, he could grind the bones of her delicate fingers into dust but when she squeezed his hand, he gently squeezed back. She smiled when she looked into his strange eyes and reached towards his face.   
  
Shying away from her touch he backed away from her uneasily, his features tensened in alarm. "Don't..."  
  
Hesitating, Bulma saw what could be mistaken as distrust in his demeanor. There was something more revealed in his usually guarded eyes that she was privy to view. The Saiyan's conduct was like an animal in a shelter that had been so badly abused in its life that it could no longer decipher cruelty from compassion. Sadly, it was the type of animal that was always deemed untrustworthy and inexorably put out of its misery. The depth of fear and indecision in his black gaze wounded her. She resolved that she would not give up on him so easily.  
  
"I won't hurt you. Don't you trust me? Just a little bit?" she murmured, her soul aching from the apparent wariness of such a simple offering.  
  
He stood his ground and permitted the contact, but only barely. His muscles were coiled up like springs and she knew that he was close to bolting. The tips of her fingers gently traced the minute scars on his face; some faded by years and barely noticeable, others more recent. There was so much pain etched into his hardened features that her heart bled and her eyes swam with remorseful tears. With a sound like a sob, she closed her lips over his own.  
  
She got no response. His mouth remained tense and hard against hers. He looked into her face searching for deception or a possible ruse he was so used to confronting but her face was relaxed and her eyes, oh Gods! her eyes... implored him to share what she so freely wanted to offer him. With a weary sigh, he gradually yielded to her gentle insistence. They finally shared a tender, brief kiss before resting their foreheads against one another and looking into each other's eyes.  
  
"Does that help answer your question?" she whispered.  
  
When she touched his face again this time he relaxed against her palm, a smile flickered across his features at the warm contact. It was so fleeting that Bulma wouldn't have caught it if their faces hadn't been so close to one another. But it had been a smile nonetheless.  
  
"It answers one but only creates others," he spoke up at last. His voice had dropped to a low, throaty tone that raised gooseflesh on her arms. She could imagine hearing that voice in the dark of night while he was atop of her. Urgently, she pressed her body against him. He cast a bewildered glance around the room, looking very different than his self-assured cockiness. He looked completely out of his element. Slowly, his muscular arms encircled her slight frame, completing the embrace she had begun. More to himself, he commented, "What happens now?"  
  
Bulma was carefully composing her answer when there was the distant exchange of voices as the morning staff arrived for their shift. Vegeta stiffened against her and stepped back before they could be seen together. The wall of suppressed emotions was back up and he walked over and lifted the heavy drafting table back to it previous position. He took down the unfinished blueprint and rolled it up into a tube as he looked anxiously at her. "I'll finish this up later..."  
  
"Sure. Sure, Vegeta. Try to get some rest today, okay?"  
  
He opened his mouth to respond when Charles McNeal poked his head inside of the room and said cheerfully, "Good morning, you two. What a beautiful day!"  
  
"Get out of my way, you idiot," Vegeta snapped as he sidestepped around the man to leave.  
  
The scientist watched him go without comment. Dr. Briefs had lectured his staff when the Saiyan had first arrived about the man's moodiness and to not provoke him at any costs. Until the communications chip had been introduced to their workload, the staff had figured the little guy to be a psycho. Now, he was just regarded as a temperamental genius.  
  
"Morning, Charles," Bulma greeted absently as she kept her eye on the door. Her heart was still racing from that small kiss and the feel of Vegeta's arms around her body. It had just felt so right-! She had to submerge a shiver of excitement.  
  
His eyebrows raised in surprise as he smiled at her. "Did someone change the dress code the last time I was here? Rowf!"  
  
She knew his was referring to her too-tight jogging ensemble and blushed. "I'm going to my office. When you see dad tell him I've got something to show him."  
  
Charles' eyes brightened like a kid on Christmas morning. He had seen Vegeta carrying a blueprint in one fist. "Is...ah, he going to like it?"  
  
"I think we all will."  
  
"Hot damn! I don't know where you found this guy but he sure is job security!" the scientist yelled in rising excitement. "Hey, is it true that you two are-"  
  
"Just pass along the message, okay?" Bulma reminded him with a slanted smile. When she was halfway down the hall she could hear Charles mutter; "What the hell? That was my favorite mug. Sonofabitch!"  
  
Covering her mouth, she managed to hold in her laughter until she was in her office. Leaning against the closed door, she let it all out until her peels of giggles almost resembled hysterics.  
  
  
Vegeta was NOT laughing.  
  
When he returned to his room he quickly discovered that there wasn't enough cold water in the world to get his mind off of the feel of Bulma's body against his own, the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair-  
  
"Oh, god-DAMN it!" he shouted into the chilling spray. He stayed there until he started shivering and then paced around the room like a caged beast wondering what he could do. Even his supposedly talented, uncommunicative fingers weren't enough to stave off the edge to his desire. This game of flirtatious glances and touches was going to be the death of him. Didn't she realize he was trying to concentrate on his training?  
  
I'm acting like a Low Caste Saiyan in his first rut, he thought in despair as he sat on the corner of the bed with his head in his hands. There was no logic to what he was feeling; the intensity of his attraction for the blue-haired female was overpowering, clouding all other reason. He had never felt anything like this before. He figured that it might have something to do with the fact he hadn't coupled with a woman since before Radditz's death on Earth. Wracking his brain for a precise date he realized that was over two years ago. It had been with some blue-skinned amazon he had never learned the name to. They had both been between missions on Frieza's warship and had made out in a weapon's storage locker. It had been one hell of wild ride...   
  
A raunchy grin came to his face before he submerged the memory with difficulty. It wasn't helping the situation anyby thinking about past conquests and he didn't want to have to go running back to the shower. He looked over at his exercise clothes and sighed. It looked like he was going to be beating his brains out in the simulator today after all.  
  
Yamcha came back from the run and waited around in the courtyard for Vegeta to show up. Whether it would be a verbal confrontation or a physical one, the younger fighter didn't care. Even Paur had settled into the background in a mood close to a wounded sulk because Yamcha refused to listen to the cat's words of reason.  
  
Hearing movement behind him, Yamcha whirled and saw the Saiyan jump to the ground from his own quarters and enter the gravity simulator, locking the door after him. The red warning lights of a training session in progress came on almost immediately.  
  
"Damn it," he said under his breath, realizing that the alien had been inside the damn building the entire time he had been outside waiting for him to show. He was about to fly off and return to his apartment when he saw Dr. Briefs peddling around the grounds doing his morning inventory before going inside to work. Now that the nosy Saiyan wasn't anywhere within earshot, Yamcha intercepted the aged man, betting that cooler heads would prevail with the information he had to share.  
  
"Hey, Doctor Briefs. Can I have a word with you?" he asked with a smile.  
  
  
It was the sound of shouting that called a premature end to his training session, as Vegeta powered down the simulator to see what the hell all of the commotion was about. He had become almost as accustomed to recognizing Bulma's excruciating pitches of voice as he was to rogue ki levels. That sound of stress in the woman's tone didn't make him hurry his pace as he exited the capsule, though. He was just relieved that it appeared as if someone else were the recipient of her rage instead of himself for a change. The irritation on his face lessened when he heard Yamcha's voice attempting (without much success) to break into the tirade.  
  
Coming around the south side of the complex, Vegeta levitated to the roof of the headquarters building and stayed low. Bulma and Yamcha were in each other's faces and oblivious to spectators but Paur was doing fretful circles around the pair and the Saiyan knew that the irritating creature had a keen eye. Lying on his stomach, he propped his head up with one arm and proceeded to watch the show.  
  
Stamping a short distance away, Bulma was starting to wind down when she said, "We were together for over ten years and NOW you're trying to tell me that you know what you want. I don't buy it."  
  
"Those other women meant nothing to me. I've always loved you. You know that, Bulma."  
  
"You sure have had a strange way of showing it."  
  
"I was immature. I've...I've changed. AT least let me prove it to you. I told you this morning during that jog that I know how to treat you right-"  
  
On the roof, Vegeta's amused smirk dropped as if he'd received a slap in the face. Bulma had made no mention that she had gone for a run with him. His fingers sank into the dense concrete down to the second knuckle before he reined his strength back in.  
  
"-And I told you that if it had been anybody other than Vegeta, you wouldn't be acting like such an ass!" Bulma yelled back, getting her second wind. "Honestly, how could you do such a thing behind my back, Yamcha?"  
  
"Me? How about you? That little shit as much as killed me and you turned around and chased after him like a bitch in heat!"  
  
She moved in with deceptive speed and slapped him so hard across the face that his head actually swung with the blow. Vegeta should have been amused but it was dawning on him that this was something far more serious than an old lover's quarrel.   
  
"That was nasty," she hissed.  
  
Yamcha slowly turned to look at her, the left-hand side of his face flushing pink. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? All of those people in East city who died when he first showed up. All of those innocent Nameks and countless other races that he's exterminated. And here you are just dying to spread your legs-"  
  
Spitting in fury, she dove in and this time he caught her arm and pulled her in close. "He's going to kill you, Bulma. Maybe not now while you still amuse him but eventually he'll get bored of you and your family and do away with you all. And he'll be laughing when he does it."  
  
On the rooftop, Vegeta had indeed been aiming his index and middle fingers at Yamcha's neck just above the shoulder blades and drew them in quickly at the fighter's harsh words before he fired. His teeth were clenched together so hard in his rage that his jaws ached.  
  
Tears were starting to course down her face. First that bitch in the park and now Yamcha- Nobody understood! How dare they vent their opinions about a person they didn't even know? All Bulma could think about was that pitiful way that Vegeta had cringed from her touch in the drafting department. Prior to her gentle caress, a hand to the face had meant an incoming punch. Pain was something the Saiyan knew all too well and no one wanted to give her the chance to show him that there were far more pleasurable sensations to look forward to. "I keep telling you he's changed!" she sobbed. "You just can't see it because you're too blinded by hate to-to-"  
  
"You're the one who's blind here, Bulma," Yamcha cut in when her words faltered. "I know you have a trusting heart like your mothers' but this time it's telling you the wrong things. Vegeta-is-evil. I know you don't want it on your conscience when he finally reverts back to his old ways. He's no better than Frieza. Creatures like him never change, they-"  
  
Vegeta had heard enough.  
  
If he listened to any more of Yamcha's bullshit the fighters' prophecy would come true even sooner than he thought. Sliding down the incline of the building, Vegeta stopped when he reached the third level and slipped inside his quarters. At a rare loss, he decided that the only thing he could possibly do would be to lie low and wait for the fight to blow over. He would sooner join in the argument and tell the bastard where he could put his stupid accusations but he knew he would only lose his temper and the results would be devastating. Bulma would track him down soon enough and he wanted it to happen on a full stomach. He pulled on a shirt and set a course for the kitchen, which was about the only refuge on this entire miserable planet that he had left.  
  
Downstairs in the living room Dr. Briefs and his wife were exchanging another terse exchange. It was rare when Mrs. Briefs' usual harried manner was cowed but at the moment she was fitfully wrestling a tea towel in her manicured hands while her husband paced the room.  
  
"What am I going to do?" he asked her for the fourth time in an hour.  
  
"I had- I never realized-I-I-" she stammered helplessly.  
  
"All of those innocent people," he said in a stunned voice. "All of those worlds. Hundreds of thousands of lives. Perhaps millions...Why didn't Bulma tell us this before?"  
  
"Perhaps...perhaps she didn't know..."  
  
"She knew," he grumbled. There was a hard edge to his voice that was rare for him. "She didn't tell us because she knew I'd never have permitted him here. She deliberately lied to us both."  
  
"Oh dear. Oh-oh dear! He's such a quiet young man. I-I had no idea-"  
  
"All of those people," Dr. Briefs said in a soft, wounded voice. "I've sheltered a butcher in my house."  
  
Bulma's mother released a shriek and pressed herself against the backrest of her chair, pointing up. Whirling, her husband looked to the open balcony that overlooked the living room and saw Vegeta standing there, silently watching them.  
  
Deliberately, the alien descended the stairs, his dark, slanted eyes never leaving Dr. Briefs sweating face. He walked over to them and assumed his usual cross-armed stance. "I demand to know what it is you're babbling about," he said brusquely.   
  
For a long moment the elderly man could only stare at him before he straightened his spine and announced, "Yamcha told us everything."  
  
Vegeta's eyes narrowed in hate. "...Yamcha."  
  
"You never told me that the technology you're copying over are from worlds whose race you personally exterminated."  
  
"Not all of it is-"  
  
"But you don't deny that you have killed on such a vast scale-"  
  
"It was my job."  
  
"-And that you enjoyed it."  
  
"Everybody needs a hobby," he responded with his characteristic arrogance. That mocking little smirk was back on his face at the memory.  
  
It was the wrong thing to say. Bulma's mother released a trembling sob at the ruthless humor on the Saiyan's face while Dr. Briefs noticeably paled. "Vegeta," was all he could get out.  
  
Beginning to lose his patience, Vegeta told him in a rough voice, "I owe you no explanations for my past, old man. I resent you trying to preach Earth morals to me. The rules of this pathetic world don't apply to my superior breed!"  
  
"That's where you're wrong," Dr. Briefs assured him. He was past his fear now, responding to his familial responsibilities that he allowed to loosen far too much. It was time to reel in the slack. "As long as you are under this roof, you will have to comply to my rules."  
  
"And haven't I been doing that?" he shot back. "Who have I killed since I've been here? What damage have I caused? I've willingly prostituted myself to you in exchange for your generosity. What more can I do to prove my intentions?"  
  
Of the two, it was Mrs. Briefs who heard the pleading timbre to his rare confessional. She reached towards her husband with a trembling hand and attempted, "Maybe...I think we all need to just sit down for a minute..."  
  
"I want you to stay away from Bulma," the Scientist told him in a low voice, his heavy brows furrowed together. "I suppose I'll have to tolerate your presence in my home so long as you continue to toe the line but my daughter is off-limits to you. Is that understood?"  
  
The Saiyan's face darkened at the unvoiced threat, not taking kindly to being given an order. It appeared that the friendly old man who had referred to him with that disarming word of 'son' was gone. In its place was something that Vegeta was intimately familiar with; hostility, hatred, resentment. He glanced over to Bulma's mother and watched as she dropped her eyes and shivered under his probing stare. Oh yes, he saw another emotion there he recognized all too well.  
  
Terror.  
  
"What's it going to be, Vegeta?" Dr. Briefs pressed.  
  
"Idiots! You've let yourselves be swayed by the words of a jealous human. You know nothing!"  
  
"What-is-it-going-to-be?" the older man demanded.  
  
Vegeta's hands were clenched into tight fists by his sides, the fingernails digging into his palms and drawing blood. The pain helped him to snap out of his rage before he did something unforgivable. Of the two, he ended up dropping his eyes first. "Fine," he spat. "I never encouraged the woman's attentions to begin with. You better make sure that she stays out of my way."  
  
"I plan to," Dr. Briefs assured him. He felt absolutely no sense of accomplishment when the alien gave an infuriated exhale of breath and prowled for the nearest exit.  
  
"Oh! And Vegeta!" he called after him.  
  
A part of the Saiyan that was dimming rapidly was hoping for a change of heart, some kind word that might possibly soothe over this terrible confrontation. He half-turned and looked over his shoulder at the man who, before this, had nothing but kind words and praise for him.  
  
A mistake, he thought to himself. He'll apologize, excuse himself for being a stupid, old fool and say it was all a mistake. "What is it?" he asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.  
  
"You're fired," Dr. Briefs said coldly.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Seven: The battlelines are drawn and all of Capsule Corp. becomes involved in the conflict. What will be Vegeta's reaction? Fight or Flight? 


	7. Separated Souls

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Seven - Separated Souls  
  
  
Retreating to opposite corners of the compound, Bulma and Yamcha agreed on an unspoken time-out while they grappled with their anger. Yamcha couldn't comprehend the woman's stubbornness over the situation. He had just told her parents what Vegeta was all about, nothing more or less (although he did have to add some embellishments when the details were spotty to lend his words more impact, of course. Nothing too serious). By having Bulma's parents on his side he figured the woman would have seen reason by now but after every argument she only became more adversarial. He was actually beginning to have the first stirrings of doubt over what he had done. Up until now, her ability to fathom out a person's hidden personality had been faultless. She had opened her heart to him practically from day one even though he had tried to rob her when they had first met. Was it possible that talent had seen something in Vegeta? Was it even possible?  
  
Grappling with hot bitter tears, Bulma sat in the grass beside one of the storage capsules on the property keeping vigil over the gravity simulator. Yamcha had told her that he had seen Vegeta slip inside earlier this morning but he wasn't there now. She didn't know what to make of his absence but she hoped that she could diffuse this tense situation before he came back. Unfortunately, things only appeared to be escalating and she had never seen her father so livid in all of her life.  
  
"How could you, Yamcha?" she whimpered, sobbing into her hands.  
  
The embittered fighter had cornered Dr. Briefs on his way into work and had asked to speak to him and his wife in private. What followed had been a two-hour lecture on the evil ways of the corrupted Saiyan race and the devastation that Vegeta had personally inflicted onto a terrified galaxy while working for Frieza. Yamcha had also seen fit to give an accurate account of their first confrontation on Earth, up until he had died by Nappa's hand that is. The Namek tale was the worst. Since he had been dead during the entire Namek situation, he had made inaccurate embellishments that had relied on biased heresy from the others. None of it had painted Vegeta in a flattering light.  
  
  
Bulma had been entirely caught off guard when her father had cornered her in her office. She had been studying the blueprints Vegeta had drawn just for her, unable to stop her mystified smile. She was reliving the tender kiss they had shared earlier when her father stormed into the room, seized the plans out of her hands and ripped them in half.  
  
"DAD! What're you doing?" she shrieked, diving for the tattered pieces as he threw them to the floor.  
  
He closed the door and turned on her, his blue eyes practically swimming in tears behind his thick glasses. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asked in a harsh voice.  
  
"What's wrong with you, dad? Vegeta gave me those blueprints this morning as a gift. Why did you-"  
  
"Enough about Vegeta!" he shouted at her. "Yamcha just told me everything that he's ever done. He's a butcher and you knowingly invited him into my house without telling me! How could you betray my trust like that, Bulma?"  
  
Seeing that incomprehensible rage in her father's face, Bulma could only stammer in confusion. One word penetrated her shock. "Yamcha? We had a fight earlier in the park. He went running to you, didn't he? What did he tell you?"  
  
"He told me what you neglected to. All of the worlds that killer invaded, entire populations of innocent people slaughtered-"  
  
"Dad, Vegeta worked for Frieza. He had no choice! He-"  
  
"He enjoyed it," Dr. Briefs snapped back. "Don't try to gloss over the truth. You're incapable of being rational where that alien is concerned. I see that now. Thank god that Yamcha set us straight!"  
  
"Yamcha doesn't even know Vegeta! He hates him-"  
  
"With good reason. Yamcha died because of him."  
  
"It was Nappa! Nappa and his Saibamen-"  
  
"Nappa took orders from Vegeta," Dr. Briefs growled. He was getting angrier by the minute instead of the other way around. Bulma had no choice but to try and wait him out so that he would calm down before making another attempt at reasoning with him. "I know everything, Bulma, and when I see that Saiyan he and I are going to have words."  
  
She didn't like the sound of that. "What-what are you going to say to him?"  
  
Moving towards the door Dr. Briefs fixed her with a solemn look. "You shouldn't have become attached to him. It ends now," he said and left her office.  
  
"Dad- NO!" she screamed after him, rushing out into the corridor. The day staff had begun curiously collecting around their doorways and now scrambled back inside their labs as the puzzling conflict moved out of the office. "Leave him alone!"  
  
"He is no longer your concern. The two of you are off-limits from this moment on, Bulma," he said without turning around.  
  
"Damn it! You can't do that!" she yelled after him.  
  
Just before rounding the corner, her father fixed her with a look that brought her to an abrupt halt, her words dying in her throat.  
  
"Daughter, it is done," he told her and ascended the stairs to leave.  
  
  
Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Bulma cast an anxious glance at the simulator, waiting in dread for Vegeta's return. She had no idea how the man would respond once the accusations started to fly. Fight or flight? It all depended on his mood and he had been so tense lately from his set backs during his training. She wanted to ensure that she got to him first to warn him of what to expect. He wouldn't blame her, she knew this instinctively, but he might just retaliate against someone else if she didn't calm him down. Right now, she absolutely loathed Yamcha but that didn't mean she wanted his murder on her conscience (at least she kept trying to convince herself of that).  
  
"Speak of the devil," she muttered as Yamcha came into view, coming around the main building obviously ready for round two. Gathering her strained resources for another face-off, Bulma got to her feet even though her throat hurt and her head was aching fiercely.   
  
The pair was about to fly into one another again when someone called out her name. Turning in surprise she saw Charles running towards her waving a paper urgently. "Bulma!"  
  
Dismissing Yamcha, she waited for the scientist to come up to her. His face was flushed but it clearly wasn't from the sprint. He was visibly upset, shoving the wrinkled paper into Bulma's hands. "I just printed this off. It was transferred over all of our desktops not five minutes ago. The entire department is in an uproar. What the hell is going on?!"  
  
Suppressing a shiver, Bulma read the terse memo, her features paling in shock.  
  
Attention to all department heads and staff  
dedicated to the current communication chip  
prototype study and development. All research  
is to be abandoned immediately. All data and  
relevant documentation are to be destroyed  
with no copies or back-ups to exist. This  
applies to everyone without exception.  
-Dr. Briefs, President  
  
"Oh no," Bulma said in an unsteady voice. The paper fluttered from her numb fingers and Yamcha snatched it up before it hit the ground. He read it with an expression of irritation, nothing more.  
  
"You're the department head. What do we do?" Charles pleaded. He was practically in tears over the thought of seeing the project destroyed. "No one can talk to your father. He came downstairs barely a half-hour ago and has locked himself in his office. What the hell is going on, Bulma?"  
  
"Let-let me think for a minute," she said distractedly, pacing in a tight circle as her mind raced. "Charles, tell everyone to do as dad ordered-"  
  
Charles' eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. "Bulma!"  
  
"-But have back-ups made of everything. Just tell them to keep quiet on it. This is all just one big misunderstanding. It'll blow over soon."  
  
"I sure hope so. I'll get right on it," the younger man said quickly and raced back downstairs before one byte of precious data could be irretrievably lost.  
  
Bulma began to follow after him until Yamcha grabbed her arm. "Not so fast. We still have this issue of Vegeta to settle first!"  
  
Wrenching her arm free, Bulma pushed the burly fighter backwards as she exploded, "You dumb shit! This IS about Vegeta! He was working for dad and now thanks to your bullshit all of his hard work is going to be destroyed! I HATE YOU!"  
  
Yamcha was left blinking in astonishment, trying to come up with a defense but Bulma had wasted enough time on him. Running into the headquarters building, she could hear the commotion even before she reached the doors to the Research and Development labs. Her father had come out of his office and was trying to restore some semblance of order to his staff.  
  
"-Please everyone, try to calm down," the old man said in a loud voice. "I just can't get into the details of the situation at this time. I only expect that my request will be followed to the letter."  
  
"What about the competitive bids that have already come in for the development of this project?" one technician called out, obviously outraged. "Are you seriously going to turn down their offers?"  
  
"I'm going to have to. The blueprints of the communications chip were based on false pretences. I cannot, in good conscience, use them here, " Dr. Briefs spoke slowly.  
  
Going over to where Bulma was standing, Charles looked at her pale, disbelieving face and suddenly called out over the crowd, "What about the designer? Vegeta? What's he got to say about all of this?"  
  
The staff quieted down, waiting expectantly for an answer. Finding his daughter's eyes and holding them in a withering glare, Dr. Briefs stated firmly, "Earlier this afternoon, Mr. Vegeta was informed of his termination of employment with Capsule Corp. He is no longer a desired employee of this company."  
  
Yamcha had been coming down the stairs when he heard that harsh statement reverberate along the corridor. His blood went cold in shock, unable to believe how things could have gone downhill so quickly. All that he had wanted to do was to make Bulma see Vegeta for what he truly was. It was now dawning on him that he should have taken more time to figure out WHO the Saiyan was first.  
  
There was a stunned silence following that announcement before the staff started in louder than before, demanding an explanation. Yamcha's stomach did a lazy roll when Bulma burst through the doors, her face streaked with tears. The two met eyes and he was unable to hold his own to her livid, accusing stare. He wordlessly stepped aside and made no attempt to follow her as she went upstairs to the living area of the building.  
  
Bulma found her mother still sitting in the living room, mutilating the remains of her tea towel in her nervous hands. She had recently been crying and when she saw her daughter enter the room, she burst into noisy tears again. "Oh! Buh-Bulma! It's awful!" she wailed in near-hysterics.  
  
Embracing her awkwardly, Bulma waited for the torrent to pass before asking, "I need to talk to Vegeta, mom. Have you seen him?"  
  
"He went straight to his room after your father fired him," the blond sniffed. "Oh, he looked sooo hurt, Bulma! I've never seen him look that way before. None of this is true, is it, dear? I just can't believe it!"  
  
Leaving her side, Bulma raced up the freestanding staircase and jogged along the balcony that over-looked the living area. Skidding to a halt in front of Vegeta's quarters she found the door to his room unlocked and partially ajar. Her dread was intensifying and she had to force herself to step inside.  
  
She saw the truth the instant she looked at the closet and saw only bare hangers there. All of the drawers had been cleaned out of their belongings (what pitifully few Vegeta possessed anyway). The bathroom was empty of any necessities. Grappling with the reality of the situation, Bulma rushed to the open window as if half-expecting to catch sight of him or the scar of afterburn from his retreat. She saw neither.  
  
"!!VEGETA!!" she screamed with all of the pain from her heart and soul, her throat straining from the effort. Standing below were several employees who were trying to puzzle out the scene in the downstairs lab. They whirled at the sound of that cry, never having heard such piercing sorrow from another human being in all of their lives.  
  
Holding her breath expectantly, Bulma practically willed her racing heart to slow as she waited for some manner of response in her mind or soul where she prayed Vegeta had left some minuscule portion of himself. There was no sense of reaction. Her call echoed flatly off of the buildings and went unanswered and she could not muster the strength for another. Speeding a desperate course away from Capsule Corp. Vegeta was trying to escape from people who now viewed him as utterly loathsome. He was alone and defenseless against a world he was ill prepared to handle. Leaving her behind and all of the things she had so freely wanted to share in their pitifully short time together.   
  
All at once the strength went out of her legs and she sank bonelessly to the floor, her small frame wracked by grieving sobs. Realization fell on her like a shroud and she could not deny the truth.  
  
She was alone now, too.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Eight: Vegeta has left Capsule Corp. -and Bulma- behind. Of all people, it's now up to Piccolo to track him down but what does he find Vegeta doing? It's Namek vs Saiyan! 


	8. Piccolo's Discovery

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Eight - Piccolo's Discovery  
  
  
It would be impossible for the naked eye to track the blur the grazed the troposphere in a hyperbolic arc that more readily covered such extreme distances in a lesser amount of time. From this high up, the resultant sonic boom was an indiscernible mutter of sound lost to the lone traveler as he sped towards his course. Senses straining to their maximum, Piccolo focused on the unique signature of ki that belonged solely to Vegeta and it wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination. The Saiyan was deliberately keeping his personal energy to a minimum no doubt trying to avoid the very thing that the Namek was doing. The distance also played in the smaller alien's favor. After more than a day, Piccolo was reasonably sure he was finally heading in the right direction after several false leads. Not for the first time, he wondered just what he was going to do in the inevitable confrontation to follow.  
  
His thoughts strayed back when Yamcha had landed in the Son family yard. Piccolo had elected to train with Gokou just to spend some more time with his favorite person on the entire planet; young Gohan, who he adored. The minute the young, scar-faced fighter appeared Piccolo knew it was going to be bad news and he wasn't disappointed. Gokou, as ever, was oblivious.  
  
"Hiya, Yamcha. It's great to see you! Have you come to spar?" Gokou greeted with his usual cheerfulness. It was always a bit disarming to Piccolo how the younger man could normally act so happy-go-lucky until a fight came up and his manner changed to one of ferocious intensity. Not for the first time he wondered if Gokou was bi-polar.  
  
Yamcha smiled at the warm response and then appeared troubled. "Actually, no. No, I didn't. I...uh, came to get some advice," he admitted haltingly.  
  
That innocuous grin of Gokou's never wavered. "Well, shoot! What can we do you for?"  
  
Standing on the sidelines, Gohan craned his head up to look at Piccolo and saw that expression of sullen anger on the Namek's emerald features. "What's going on, Piccolo?"  
  
"Trouble," was all he had to say in response.  
  
Sure enough, Yamcha related the past events that had happened at Capsule Corp. He tried to keep the indignation out of his voice when he told them of Bulma and Vegeta's times together and her confessed attraction to him. Gohan appeared completely floored by the revelation but Piccolo and Gokou only exchanged a knowing glance between them. They had been forewarned of the strange pairing from that lavender-haired youth from the future and the news was no surprise. What they were unprepared for was Yamcha's destructive meddling that had turned Capsule Corp. into a demilitarized zone and effectively driven Vegeta off to parts unknown. In a completely unexpected turn of events, Bulma had quit her position at the company and moved out of the headquarters building in protest. She moved into a nearby hotel, refusing contact with friends or family; everybody except the very Saiyan she was trying desperately to find on her own. The entire situation had turned into a disaster-  
  
"-And it's all my fault," Yamcha added. "I really didn't realize this would happen-"  
  
"Bullshit," Piccolo rumbled in annoyance. "This was exactly what you hoped would be the result of your interference. The only problem with the plan was that Bulma didn't leap back into your arms like you expected she would."  
  
Yamcha swallowed, unable to hold his eyes up to the commanding figure of the brooding Namek. He dropped his head and betrayed a small nod of shame. "I figured Vegeta would eventually hurt her and her family. I didn't know that he was working for her father or that he had settled in so well with them. I... don't know what to do. That's why I came here."  
  
"How long ago did this happen?" Gokou asked curiously.  
  
Yamcha squared his shoulders and admitted, "...Ten days ago-"  
  
"-Ten days!?" Piccolo bellowed. The only one of the assembled trio who didn't so much as flinch at the fearsome roar was young Gohan. The youth was absorbing all of the drama with a maturity that went far beyond his eight years. He stared up at his enraged sensei while the Namek continued his rant. "In ten minutes Vegeta could have turned this world inside out and you've let him wander around Earth unchecked for the last ten days without warning anybody? Are you a complete imbecile?"  
  
"Bulma told me to wait and see if he would return." He shrugged unhappily. "Obviously that hasn't happened. I'm at a real loss here, guys."  
  
Scratching the back of his head, Gokou appeared bewildered for a moment. "Well, I guess the only thing to do would be for me to go track Vegeta down-"  
  
"-And what are you going to tell him?" Piccolo cut in roughly, fixing him with a knowing glare. They both knew that the Saiyan prince loathed the younger fighter. A rational conversation between them would be next to impossible. In the inevitable brawl to follow Gokou would more than likely betray the information confided to him and make the current damage irreparable. The two Saiyan's had to stay separated from one another, at least until Trunks was conceived. After that, it should no longer matter.  
  
"Well, I'd say he had to go back to Bulma 'cause-" Gokou's mouth snapped shut in realization. "Okay, I see your point. But someone's gonna have to go after him before he does something...bad." They had sensed Vegeta's power tantrum in the Australian archipelago when it had happened a month ago with some concern. They didn't want a repeat of that performance in an area that was populated.  
  
Yamcha's eyes widened in alarm and Gohan only looked perplexed by the whole thing. Only Piccolo stood his place and his expression never changed when he understood his role was to play the reluctant matchmaker. "I'll find him," he said in a low voice. He pointed a taloned finger at Yamcha who blanched in fear. "You. Go back to Capsule Corp. and try to undo some of the damage you've caused. Use Gokou or Gohan as character witnesses. Fetch Krillin if you have to. This mess has got to be cleaned up, alright?"  
  
Hesitantly, Yamcha nodded and, satisfied Piccolo took to the air without another word or a backward glance at the trio. He was already in the process of mentally preparing himself for what was going to be a delicate operation against someone with even worse of a hair-trigger temper than his own.  
  
Personally, Piccolo preferred to be the sole person to confront Vegeta, recognizing a kindred spirit with the alien that he did not share with anyone else on this planet. It went beyond extraterrestrial origins or reciprocal dispositions and lay chiefly in the fact that, at one time, their goals had been virtually identical:  
  
Kill Gokou. Destroy the Earth. In that order.  
  
There was an irony to the current plight that nobody seemed to bother touching on and it gnawed away at the back of Piccolo's mind as he continued his search. He himself had been wrecking havoc on the planet ever since Kami had sloughed off his evil negativity that had given him life as the Demon King. With relentless hatred, he had taunted Gokou and the others for over ten years and left nothing but chaos in his wake. Here he was now, kindly accepted among the Z Fighter ranks with hardly any opposition. Vegeta on the other hand, had scarcely been on earth an hour in his first appearance and had redeemed himself on Namek. Yet everyone on Earth still regarded him as the scourge of the galaxy to be feared and despised. That didn't appear very fair to Piccolo. He had found redemption in his own soul thanks to Gohan's trust and love. Rather than be jealous of the attention, Gokou actually encouraged the bond between his only child and his former enemy. Vegeta deserved the right to discover the same with Bulma and not be subjected to the embittered interference of an ex-lover.  
  
But what can I possibly say to him? Piccolo wondered repeatedly as he descended over northern North America homing in on Vegeta's distinctive ki. Reasoning with the mercurial Saiyan would be next to impossible if he was in the throes of another tantrum. If it came to a conflict he was outclassed despite all of the setbacks that Yamcha had told them of the Saiyan's training. He wasn't sure what he could do.  
  
Mercifully, a voice came into his mind and provided a solution.  
  
  
The lone grizzly, a huge hulking beast at the height of its prime, prowled the entrance of its den with growing agitation. He had staked out this site days earlier, listening to the telltale signs of an approaching winter that sang in his bones, imploring him to seek out an appropriate shelter in preparation for hibernation. Guarding his territory religiously, he peered into the depths of the barren cavity of rock in bewilderment sensing something was not quite right. He released one low growl of inquiry.  
  
Someone or some...thing growled back.  
  
Backing away in alarm, the grizzly snorted his displeasure. He raised himself on his muscular hind legs and stood at his full height of over nine feet as he bellowed a roar of challenge at the intruder. When he got no answer he began to pace restlessly back and forth outside of the cavern, his thunderous cries growing in volume with his rage. By the time the intruder emerged from the lair, the grizzly immediately charged its impressive bulk towards the slight figure with the full intention of ripping it to shreds.  
  
Eager to meet the challenge, Vegeta bared his teeth in a feral grin and dropped the object he was holding under his right arm. He lowered himself down to a deceptive crouch as if eager to meet this new threat head-on. An instant before the great bear was on him, he leapt straight up into the air. The grizzly, a seasoned veteran bearing the scars of many territorial skirmishes, skidded to a halt and glanced around in confusion an instant before Vegeta's elbow connected with it's spine and snapped it like a twig.  
  
Driven brutally down into the dirt, it's hind-legs dead, front limbs scrambling for futile purchase, the grizzly snapped at the empty air. His teeth gnashed together like a livid vice as he tried to locate the attacker. A roar of pure outrage dissolved into a whimper as a blurred fist smashed against his head, crushing the jaw and breaking several teeth. A second blow shattered the immense skull, the inhuman pressure actually causing the grizzly's eyes to protrude from their sockets.  
  
Vegeta watched the bear's death-throes with cold contempt, his bloodlust piqued and far from sated. He evaded one lashing paw and brought his fist down into the bear's ribcage, collapsing it. His arm went in past the elbow, bathing it in warm wetness and the smell of the blood further amplified his crazed fury. He picked up the huge bear effortlessly and threw it against a nearby tree, shattering both. He did that again and again until all that was left was a fur-wrapped bundle of burst organs and broken bones that no longer bore any resemblance to its former, proud self.  
  
Breathing heavily, Vegeta licked at the gore smeared across the palm of one hand and the coppery taste awakened a hunger in him that he had neglected to correct for some days now. He was famished. Compulsively, he began tearing through the mangled chest of the bear and tore loose the steaming prize, opening his mouth with eager anticipation. The heart hung poised about an inch from his mouth before he realized he was no longer alone.  
  
Standing several yards away, Piccolo was watching the gruesome scene with silent contemplation. With dispassionate calmness, Vegeta extended his hand towards him, which was still clasped around the heart and politely inquired, "Come to join the picnic?"  
  
"I'll pass," the Namek said coolly.  
  
"Too bad." He finished the act by taking a bite from the still-warm organ and grinning through a mask of blood. "You don't know what you're missing."  
  
Oh, I'm sure I do, Piccolo wanted to add but chose to remain silent as he watched the Saiyan consume his grisly meal and then proceed to wipe his hands on the bear's fur. "Yamcha told me what happened."  
  
"Oh yeah? Which version did he use this time?" Vegeta was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  
  
Ignoring the sarcasm, the Namek persisted, "This situation will blow over if you'd only come back and explain your side to-"  
  
"I shouldn't have to 'explain' anything!"  
  
"Vegeta, human's are emotional creatures. I'm sure if we both went back to Capsule Corp. you'd find the whole thing was just a misunderstanding-"  
  
"How the hell would you know? You weren't even there!"  
  
Attempting a different angle, Piccolo said, "Bulma is very upset by all of this. Perhaps you should go back to her and talk things over. I'm sure that both of you would benefit from such an exchange-"  
  
"Do NOT interfere in my personal affairs, Namek," Vegeta hissed. "What do you know about relationships, anyway? You're the only race I've ever met that can take the expression; 'Go fuck yourself' literally. Stay out of my life!"  
  
Despite the harsh wording he had a point, Piccolo admitted to himself. As an asexual being he didn't know the first thing about human dating rituals or the eccentricities associated with courtship and, truth be told, he didn't want to know. From his perspective the concept of human pairings was a needless, disgusting waste of energy best used elsewhere. Fortunately, thanks to Gohan, he now anticipated the sensation of companionship and relished the thought of another's company and figured he was one up on the Saiyan in that department. "I've come to bring you back."  
  
Vegeta looked at him sharply, hearing the unvoiced threat in those six simple words and not liking it one bit. He offered the Namek a callous sneer and picked up the object he had discarded before killing the grizzly. "I'm busy. Go bother someone else," he said and powered up his ki and flew off.  
  
Piccolo recognized what Vegeta was carrying with sudden alarm. He blasted after the Saiyan with a cry of fury and cut off his route of escape, extending his arms as he yelled; "What are you doing with a Dragonball?"  
  
Looking down at the object under his arm as if it was the first time he'd seen it, Vegeta drawled in a mocking tone; "Oh...this silly old thing? Just something I picked up in my travels, that's all."  
  
Glowering at him sidelong in one long, measuring glance, the Namek ventured, "You could not have sensed that one on your own."  
  
"I had a little help," Vegeta admitted. With that infuriating smirk on his face he pulled out a large circular object out of the pocket of his jacket. It looked like an oversized pocket watch with a garish green dial.  
  
"The Dragonball radar," Piccolo grumbled. "How-"  
  
"Skulking around under Frieza's shadow has taught me allot about subterfuge and infiltration. For all of their wealth, Capsule Corp. has piss-poor security. I doubt that anyone has even noticed it's missing. By the time they do...it'll be too late to matter." He chuckled under his breath.  
  
Piccolo seethed with anger as all of his thoughts of possible redemption on the fellow warrior's soul came crashing down in his mind. He recalled the proud words of an adoring son from the future. A sensation of reluctant acceptance from their allies as he settled on Earth. They had all been fools to think that Vegeta had changed for the better when he had just reverted back to his old ways. Without warning, all of the bitterness and rage he had bottled up from their very first encounter came to the fore and he tensened his muscles, the veins rippling underneath of the green and pink surface of his skin like sluggish worms.  
  
"You can't make any wishes, Vegeta. The Dragonballs need a year to recharge." The Dragonball the Saiyan was holding was only an indistinguishable orange-colored rock in its current state.  
  
"By the time I track them all down it'll be close to that," the Saiyan told him. All pretenses of patience were gone and he flared his ki shield in preparation for combat. "I can wait until they're ready to make my wish."  
  
Fangs bared, Piccolo flew into him with the force of a missile and drove them back down into the thick woods. Vegeta barely had the time to throw the Dragonball to safety before they clashed. Neither spared any quarter for the other as they exchanged a lightening-fast flurry of blows and then began releasing ki blasts that transformed the woods into a flaming pyre. Their personal shields protected them from the worst of it, as the dry timber became a suffocating conflagration that boxed them in on all sides. Vegeta leapt into a churning pall of thick smoke, becoming lost to the incensed Namek's sight. An instant later he appeared directly behind him with a glowing left palm. The Big Bang attack smashed into Piccolo's vulnerable back and propelled the large alien through the flaming brush and knocked aside rubble and trees from his path for over an acre of distance.  
  
Before giving chase, the enormity of the forest-fire they had created dawned on Vegeta as the battle-lust slipped from his vision. For no reason he could decipher he was reminded of Bulma's nagging pitch of voice when she had collected him from that barren archipelago, going on about how he had needlessly destroyed the area even though it had been uninhabited. There was wildlife in these thick woods that would die from this inferno and he knew that would upset her enormously.   
  
What the hell do I care? he admonished himself as he followed the clear path of devastation that marked where the Namek had been thrown by the blast. Humans have their own devices to deal with such disasters. Let them clean it up.   
  
Still...he glanced backwards. It was yet such a small fire, easily contained of caught early. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on collecting his ki as he envisioned the woods around him and raised one glowing hand before slamming the palm directly into the dirt. There was a heavy sensation of a thick blanket of air that descended on the area. It pushed out the flammable oxygen and asphyxiated the flames in one swift stroke, leaving smoldering debris in its wake.  
  
Vegeta had the thought; Bulma would be pleased, before he trampled it. He couldn't believe he had even entertained the notion of her concern and was infuriated with himself because if it. It only justified his reasoning further in seeking out the Dragonballs and setting things to rights. Earth had damaged him irreparably; it was time to correct that damage.  
  
Just as he turned away from his inspection of the extinguished blaze, a mountain of green fury plowed into him. Several blows got through his lowered defenses until he had the clarity of mind to thrust out his defensive shield and force the Namek backwards. Piccolo, his weighted cape now reduced to a singed shawl, fired a huge ball of energy that was guaranteed to incinerate its target. Taking a desperate gamble that his attempts at his training may have actually accomplished something, Vegeta dove into the blast course and punched it upward away from the volatile timber. It detonated a mile above them, the shockwave spiraling out in a circular shower of red-tinged smoke. The ground actually vibrated from the intensity of it.  
  
Piccolo realized he was gaping in astonishment and quickly closed his mouth but the rare look was lost to Vegeta who was shaking his badly burned hand and snarling a stream of curses at him. Sparing a glance around his surroundings, the Namek took note that the fire was out and he'd had no part in its eradication. He marginally lowered his energy shield and took measure of the smaller man in front of him, unable to hide the confusion on his face. "You put out the fire."  
  
Blowing air on the blisters forming on his knuckles, Vegeta scowled at him. "It was getting too hot for my taste."  
  
He had personally deflected the blast into the air rather than avoid it and let it fly into the timber, Piccolo brooded. Why would he do that?  
  
"Something is not right here..." he muttered under his breath, angry with himself for not seeing something he knew he should have under calmer circumstances. Perhaps...perhaps Vegeta had not reverted back to type, as he had feared. Maybe he had been wrong to jump to such hasty conclusions-  
  
The Saiyan didn't give him any chance to debate the issues further as he released one of his feral bellows and moved in like a blur. They brawled in the smoldering debris until they were filthy with the clinging ash and blood from their wounds. Both antagonists were fairly matched despite the obvious differences in size. Piccolo was immensely strong and his time as Gokou's personal battering ram had sharpened his fighting skills considerably. The Saiyan's reflexes were immeasurably quick and his martial arts were of an alien ilk that made coming up with defenses a tricky affair.  
  
"You're weakening, Namek," Vegeta snarled with satisfaction.  
  
"If I fall to you, the others will rise in my place," Piccolo assured him, struggling to catch his breath. "We'll never let you get the Dragonballs."  
  
"I told you to stay out of my business."  
  
The larger alien was shaking his head determinedly. "Not this time. You didn't get your chance at immortality on Namek, and I'll be damned if you're going to get it here!"  
  
That visage of anger slipped from Vegeta face for a moment before he erected it with difficulty. A haunted light had come to his eyes that Piccolo had never seen before and returned his earlier feeling of unease. He was about to start with the questions again until the Saiyan resumed his attack, sensing his hesitation. Dodging a flurry of fists and feet, Piccolo was caught in an unexpected defensive and the thought of who that attacker was renewed his previous animosity. With a snarl of malice, he raised one fist high in the air and brought it down in a glowing arc.  
  
An instant before the terrible blow fell, Vegeta dropped his protective field of energy and calmly closed his eyes, waiting for it. Piccolo barely had the wits to power down on the punch before it collided with the Saiyan's face, knocking him brutally off of his feet and propelling him several meters away where he lay in a crumpled heap, unmoving.  
  
His muscles twitching in agitation, Piccolo tried to make sense of what had just happened. He tried blinking away the sight of Vegeta's calm expression as he waited for the blow that would have ripped his head from his shoulders if he, himself hadn't held back at the last possible instant. Just what the HELL was going on here? He looked around at the remains of the fire again, sensing the Saiyan's ki that had smothered it. Lastly, he searched for the Dragonball. It was lying nearby on a thatch of crisp grass, only three months charged; The sole witness to this puzzling confrontation and only adding more questions with its very presence.  
  
Vegeta uttered one low moan and struggled to sit up. He spat out a mouthful of blood and saw one tooth lying in the gore. Despite the sight he raised his eyes to Piccolo and there was only vague resentment on his face when he said, "You held back."  
  
"If I hadn't, that punch would have taken your head off!" Piccolo snapped.  
  
Again he only got that disquieting expression in response to his words. If the Namek had to place a word on the emotion he was seeing he would have had to call it disappointment. Continuing his earlier train of thought, he looked to the lone Dragonball again. "Why are you collecting the Dragonballs, Vegeta?"  
  
"I thought you had all of the answers, Namek," Vegeta grumbled as he got slowly to his feet. It appeared as if the fight had finally left him after that last blow. He swayed on his feet for a moment before he collected his bearings, rubbing his jaw with a scowl.  
  
"You're not gathering them to wish for immortality, are you?" Piccolo asked. When he got no response, he snarled. "Answer me!"  
  
"Just ignore me for nine more months. After that I'll finish up what you were too chicken-shit to do," Vegeta said impassively.  
  
There was silence between the two antagonists as they faced one another in the smoldering clearing. Far off, a raven was calling to its mates as if to inform them that the coast was clear; that everything was all right.  
  
It dawned on Piccolo that nothing was all right. It wasn't even close to it. One look at the Saiyan's eyes told him that. Usually blazing with arrogance or rage they were strikingly dull to the Namek's probing stare and that worried him more than he would have ever thought possible. He never thought he would live to see a day when the Saiyan's belligerence was cowed into submission. In a hollow voice, he muttered, "You-you're going to wish to be dead again..."  
  
Vegeta shook his head. "I'm just going to correct a mistake, that's all."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
The Saiyan's shoulders slumped in defeat as he stared at the Dragonball, his eyes were vague. "The original wish to return the dead was phrased wrong; 'Bring back everyone who was killed by Frieza'." He snorted and shook his head in disgust. "I wasn't supposed to be included. Everybody knows that. My presence on this mudball is a joke. I'm just going to set things right."  
  
Piccolo couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I must have hit you harder than I thought. It sounds to me like you're choosing to give up like some petulant little child who didn't get his way."  
  
He didn't get the flash of indignation he had been hoping for. "Call it what you want, Namek," came the softly spoken response.  
  
"The Vegeta I know would never give in to such a cowardly act."  
  
"The Vegeta you knew died on Namek. He should have been left there to rot," he chose as his answer. He considered the charred brush around him, as he became lost in thought. In a voice nearly a whisper he added, "I want to go back to that. There was no more pain. No more humiliation. No more nightmares. Just... darkness. I want what was taken away from me; I want to be left in peace."  
  
"I can't believe you're just giving up like this. It's pathetic!" Piccolo growled at him, walking a short distance away. He kicked aside a branch as big around as his thigh and came stalking back. "What's the real reason behind this nonsense, Vegeta? Don't give me any of that pride rhetoric of yours either."  
  
"I don't have much pride left, Namek. Most of it was forfeited just for the clothes on my back," Vegeta told him, the words dripping with bitterness. His features were haggard and drawn, revealing to the stunned Namek how many nights he must have laid awake plagued by the very things he was about to confess. "I should be the King of a galactic empire with millions under my command right now. Not be reduced to living among lowly humans wondering where my next meal is coming from. This planet is slowly killing me one day at a time and I've no where else to go. At least grant me some respect to make a wish that will put me out of my misery."  
  
Piccolo squinted at him in annoyance. "You'll be regarded as a weak coward, you know that don't you?"  
  
"I all ready know what gets said behind my back, Namek. It's a great big joke that your pre-pubescent student kicked my ass the first time I was here on Earth. On Namek I bawled like a baby and it took Kakarott to finish off Frieza. Please enlighten me if I've forgotten any more humiliating encounters." Vegeta said with his customary sarcasm. He was physically and emotionally drained but the taunting dark humor was there. It always would be. "Oh yes, of course! I also lost my tail; the very definition of a true Saiyan warrior. That's the most maddening of the entire situation because I swear I can still feel the damn thing twitching behind me but when I reach for it, there's nothing there. I-have-had-enough. So leave me alone, Namek, so I can continue what I've started."  
  
There was nothing Piccolo could say or do that would successfully bait Vegeta on this issue. It was clear that his mind had been made up and focused on this task long before he had ever showed up. Attempting to sway him with words was going to be an impossibility but he was determined to make the effort. "I'm not going to let you make that wish," he said firmly.  
  
"Then finish what you were going to do."  
  
Piccolo tensened at the memory of the near miss of his earlier punch. He had been so close..."No."  
  
"Then fuck off. I've got work to do," Vegeta snapped as he went to retrieve his Dragonball and continue the hunt that would see to his destruction. Just as he bent down to grab it, a low powered ki blast knocked it beyond his reach. He squeezed his hands into knotted fists and grappled with his rage. At length he straightened again and faced the Namek, his face pale and very, very tired. It was obvious that he was in sorry shape to continue the fight but he would if he had to and they both knew it.  
  
"We're not finished here," Piccolo assured him. "Honestly, Vegeta. What would Bulma think about your committing suicide like this? Have you given any thought about her at all?"  
  
Vegeta's eyes narrowed suspiciously and the Namek was encouraged by the barest flicker of emotion he saw in response to the mentioning her name.  
  
"Why do you keep on harping about that woman, Namek?" he asked warily. "Of everyone on this stupid planet, you've mentioned her twice. Why is she supposed to be of any concern to me?"  
  
Out of desperation, Piccolo reasoned that perhaps the Saiyan might be able to handle the prophecy from the future after all. As things were going, it appeared to be a last ditch effort at best. "Vegeta, I'm trying to tell you that-" He flinched as that presence was back in his head, cautioning him against saying anything more at such a volume that he squeezed his eyes shut. "Okay! Okay!" he hollered, waving his arms in the air. "What the hell do I tell him then?" Listening, he nodded to himself several times, frowned and then grumbled, "Well, you can try that. But I don't think-" He visibly winced again.  
  
Watching the show with bored, half-interest Vegeta commented to no one in particular, "I'm witnessing a Schizophrenic Namek. Will wonders never cease."  
  
"Shut up, Vegeta. I was talking to someone important."  
  
"No shit. I'm just going to take my Dragonball and you can continue your little mental debate-"  
  
Smiling for no apparent reason, Piccolo told him, "I have to take you to meet someone. In fact, HE wants to talk to you personally."  
  
Vegeta regarded him as if he had completely lost his mind. He released a dry snort and looked away, crossing his arms in defiance as he jeered, "I'm not going any-"  
  
Piccolo was on him like a blur. With one deft blow he cold-cocked the Saiyan and hefted him effortlessly over one massive shoulder. He picked up the Dragonball with his free arm and took to the sky without delay.  
  
"I sure hope this works," he grumbled under his breath.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Nine: Where is Piccolo taking Vegeta? It's someone with some answers as well as some startling revelations about the Saiyan's destiny and very little of it is good news... 


	9. Foreboding Destiny

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Nine - Foreboding Destiny  
  
  
Floating ten kilometers above the earth and cloaked from mortal eyes, lies an immense alien structure, its origins unknown. The partial ellipse of its shape and the hint of topiary on its surface give the deliberate impression of unthreatening tranquility those rare few chosen to lay eyes upon it. There is great wisdom to be found here, and true knowledge. Housed within the alabaster palace is a repository of chambers where time-limes intersect, where dimensional barriers fray at the seams and where nightmares and dreams are revealed.   
  
It is not a place to venture for those who do not have the ki to withstand the depths of divination from its wizened host. The powerful occupant had been called many things over the course of his extended life span; God, being the most common. His province is far more humbling than what such an auspicious calling would suggest. He was not omnipotent. In fact his aged frame was bent with the weight of centuries and he knew that he would not live to see another. An intuitive and powerful creature he was not omnipresent either. His station in life was surprisingly simple. He was the watchdog of wishes, the caretaker of dreams...  
  
He was Kami; The true origin of the mystic Dragonballs.  
  
Piccolo did not want to come here. It troubled him beyond words to view the Lookout and be reminded how the sight of it related to him personally. Unfortunately, to refuse the orders of the ancient Namek was virtually an impossibility since they were one in the same being. For all intents and purposes, Kami was the paternal equivalent of a father to Piccolo. Like his friendship with Gohan and his growing tolerance of the other Z fighters, some part of the younger Namek wanted the elders' approval because he had been held in contempt for far too long. Despite himself, he wanted to do the right thing. By listening to Kami and bringing Vegeta here, he was headed in the right direction towards redemption.  
  
Vegeta was showing signs of coming around and Piccolo unceremoniously dumped him on the palace steps as he went searching for the wise patriarch. He had to grumble under his breath that the old bastard had the foresight to order him around but not the wits to meet him personally. He looked to the doors of the palace but did not have the courage to just brazenly enter the immense structure. He went around to the back of the palace calling for the older Namek with voice and mind.  
  
Piccolo caught up to him as he was leaving his small garden and paced nervously along side of him as the Elder made his excruciatingly slow way around to the front of the building. When Kami rounded the corner, he saw Vegeta sitting up and wiping the blood from his battered face with the sleeve of his jacket. He glowered at Piccolo disapprovingly. "You did not tell me that you had to beat him into submission to get him here."  
  
Piccolo shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"  
  
The elder Namek shook his head in distaste at the other alien's actions. "You've done quite enough. Stay here," he barked, and went over to where the Saiyan was seated.  
  
"Vegeta," Kami greeted cordially.  
  
Vegeta's dark eyes narrowed in agitation before he deliberately spat out a mouthful of blood on the polished marble floor of the Lookout. In the background Piccolo made a strangled squawk at the Saiyan's belligerence but Kami only observed the act with veiled nonchalance, refusing to be baited by such obvious tactics.  
  
"Walk with me," the Elder said.  
  
"Ask me nicely," Vegeta snarled back.  
  
"Vegeta-" Piccolo tensened with outrage until Kami raised a calm hand in his direction. He smiled pleasantly when he looked back to Vegeta and actually gave a respectful little bow.  
  
"Please, young prince."  
  
It was the correct thing to say. Getting to his feet, the Saiyan obediently went to his side and allowed himself to be led in an aimless walk around the sparse grounds. At first there was only silence between the alien pair. Weighing his words carefully before he spoke, Kami watched as Vegeta cast a probing glance around his surroundings, eyeing everything and cataloging what he saw for future reference. It was that meditative quiescence of his calm manner that prompted Kami to ask, "Your boyhood was not that of a typical Saiyan youth, was it Vegeta?"  
  
Vegeta snapped his head around quickly. "What does my childhood have to do with any of this?"  
  
"Please. Oblige me."  
  
Grumbling, he admitted, "I was first-born Prince to the House of Vegeta of the Saiyajin Royalty Elite. Being such, my upbringing was different than that of a lower-caste Saiyan."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"What's this all about?"  
  
"I am only curious. Tell me more."  
  
"I was being groomed for the throne," Vegeta finally said after a long pause. "I was forbidden to associate with those my own age who would later become warriors. I could fight with the best of them but I had to learn things a commoner wouldn't need."  
  
"Like what, for example?" Kami asked curiously.  
  
"You're really pushing it," the Saiyan told him menacingly. He received only that disarming, benevolent smile in response. "When I wasn't in training to fight and control my power, I had to study useless subjects like math, history, philosophy..." He gave an irritated shake of the head. "By the time I was eight I was bored out of my mind."  
  
"Then you were sent off to Frieza in exchange for your world. You did everything that creature told you to but he killed your father and destroyed your planet anyway," Kami said in a saddened tone of voice. "You were never intended to become a soldier, Vegeta, but fate dealt you a very cruel blow."  
  
"No shit," he retorted sourly in agreement.  
  
"Tell me," the Elder continued with that infuriating calmness in his manner. "Did you continue your studies while you were in Frieza's employ?"  
  
"I had an obligation to honor my father and my heritage."  
  
"So the answer is; yes."  
  
Reluctantly, Vegeta nodded. "I'll ask you one last time...What the hell is this about?" His patience was ticking down with each probing question and the both of them knew it.  
  
"You have a surprisingly reflective and insightful nature," Kami concluded after a long, meditative silence. "It is evident in your manner and speech and clearly a result of your unique upbringing. Any other Saiyan, excluding Gokou of course, would have attacked me by now."  
  
"I haven't yet decided against that, old man," the Saiyan assured him in a dangerous tone of voice.  
  
Kami's smile broadened despite the harsh words. "I have something very special to show you."  
  
"Oh goody," Vegeta muttered under his breath but he followed the old Namek anyway.  
  
Blinking in disbelief, Piccolo watched the strange pair enter the immaculate palace, Kami actually stepping aside to let the small Saiyan in first. It was a privilege that had never been offered to him and, for perhaps the first time in his life, the young Namek had to grapple with the bitter emotion of jealousy.  
  
"What lies beyond this door is a very special room," Kami told him when they had reached the end of one of a seemingly infinite number of twisting corridors. They had taken so many different turns down so many identical hallways that Vegeta hoped the old Namek wouldn't kick off or he'd never find his way back outside. "I would not invite any other Saiyan here, Vegeta. I recognize a rare trait in you and I believe that you alone can comprehend what I am about to show you where no other of your brethren, were they alive, would understand. I doubt even Gokou could fathom what lies beyond this door."  
  
"There's a shocker," Vegeta said without surprise. "Are we just going to stand here and admire the damn door or are you actually going to open it?"  
  
Inclining his head, Kami closed his arthritic fingers around the doorknob and carefully opened the door. "Enter at will, young prince," he said affably.   
  
Casting him a mistrustful glare, Vegeta walked inside of the darkened room a couple of feet and then halted as he considered his surroundings. Coming up along side of him, Kami asked, "What do you think?"  
  
"It's a funhouse hall of mirrors. Big deal," the Saiyan retorted, clearly unimpressed. All around him and as far back in the room his sharp eyes could see were mirrors of all shapes and sizes that stared blankly back at him. The air was musty and stale, reeking of ancient dust and tarnished metal. No one had been in this room for a very long time, Vegeta figured. The tension went out of his compact form at the desolate sight of empty glass and his despair returned. He resented this detour of riddles that was keeping him from his task; He had Dragonballs to hunt for and a deathwish to make. He would find nothing here and turned to leave.  
  
"Wait one moment, Vegeta," the Elder said patiently. He placed a firm hand on Vegeta's arm that contained a surprising amount of strength. "Please look around first before you resume your quest."  
  
Vegeta shrugged off the alien's grip with an expression of disgust, noting how the Elder had cleverly moved between him and the door. He debated an attack and decided to humor the senile old goat instead and walked further into the room, muttering to himself. It didn't take him long before he noticed that his presence wasn't reflected on any of the smooth surfaces. Wandering over to one that was taller than he was, Vegeta stared at it for a moment and hesitantly touched the dusty surface. An image appeared and he jumped back in alarm, watching as the shape took on a more discernable form.  
  
"Do you recognize him, Vegeta?" Kami asked quietly.  
  
"It's my father," he answered but he was frowning at the image in a thoughtful way.  
  
"Look more closely," the Elder prompted.  
  
As he examined the likeness before him, Vegeta crossed his arms and watched as the person on the other side of the smooth surface did the exact same thing. The tall Saiyan was dressed in the regal battle-dress befitting Royalty but the style was different, looking streamlined and very modern. On the left-hand side of the man's chestplate was the Royal Crest of the House of Vegeta.  
  
Moving in closer, Vegeta examined the Saiyan's face thoroughly and, more importantly, his eyes. "It's me," he concluded, taking a step back. He cocked his head to one side and his counterpart mimicked the gesture, blinking when he did. "Me, as King."  
  
"Welcome to the Room of What Was, What Will Be and What Should Have Been," Kami said from behind. "In a perfect, unfractured timeline, this would be you; Today."  
  
"I'm...taller," Vegeta observed with annoyance. His supposed likeness towered a full foot and a half over him and he found that more than a little disconcerting. "Why would I be taller?"  
  
At length, the Namek told him in a regretful tone, "Your hatred of Frieza and your grief over the loss of your world stunted your growth during your formative years. Don't you...remember?"  
  
"I didn't-" Vegeta opened his mouth to respond when the mirror to his left rippled in concord to his thoughts. He saw himself as a small boy, probably no more than eleven or twelve, practicing fiercely. Nappa was beside him, his lips moving soundlessly but Vegeta's memories filled that void and he knew what his former bodyguard was saying. The older Saiyan was imploring him to eat but he wasn't hungry, focusing all of his will on his training awaiting the day when he would get revenge on what Frieza had done to him and his people. A Saiyan youth entering puberty required a colossal amount of food to maintain his ki and growing body. During those awful years, Vegeta had perhaps eaten a quarter of what his starving body required and by the time he had finally snapped out of his grief the damage to his system had been irreparable. He hadn't grown much more and it had taken a long time for his muscles to fill out despite his harsh training. Not for the first time, Vegeta was thinking that all of that training had been an utter waste of time and effort and his face darkened at the thought. In response to his sudden brooding, the image on the mirror faded to an ominous black.  
  
Kami held his breath as he waited for the inevitable Saiyan tantrum that would destroy this delicate room and its irreplaceable treasures. Instead, Vegeta took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror as he resumed his inspection. He had made his peace with his size long ago and learned to use it to his advantage. It was amazing how many worlds associated small size with weakness. In fact, Radditz and Nappa used to make wagers on how long he would put up with the short jokes before he finally annihilated the population. A smile flickered across his face at the thought of his two cohorts and he faltered in his course as the mirror closest to him came to life.  
  
He, Nappa and Radditz were surveying a recent act of destruction, standing in the scattered remains of people and debris all reduced to one unidentifiable charred mass. Radditz was braying laughter over something Nappa had said and gave the Vegeta in the mirror a slap on the back that made him stumble forwards several steps. He came back and punched the unruly-haired warrior directly in the crotch as hard as he could then he and Nappa were standing over the contorted giant laughing so hard they could barely stand.   
  
Good times...Vegeta thought sadly and dropped his eyes. Radditz was dead by Piccolo's hand, Nappa by his own. He was the only one left now, Kakarott didn't even count; Super-Saiyan or not. The younger man was too damaged by this miserable world to be salvageable. He was a Saiyan by birthright only. That left no one for Vegeta to turn to. At least in Hell he would be reunited with friends and enemies alike and he wanted that company very, very much.  
  
As if catching that stray thought, Kami remarked gently, "Piccolo informed me of your earlier distress. You thought that your being wished back with the others was an error."  
  
"Wasn't it?" he asked dully.  
  
"Look up, Vegeta."  
  
"Shit. I'm going to get whiplash in this stupid room," he sputtered but did as he was instructed. Directly above him was a white line that stretched on in a vertical slash towards the center of the room.  
  
"That line represents the course of your life," Kami told him, reaching up. One talon touched that ribbon of light and suddenly a second line broke off from the original and transformed into a blood red slash, running along beside it. "The red line is the result of your involvement with Frieza."  
  
"Not voluntarily," the Saiyan told him bitterly.  
  
"If it had been, it would have remained one path instead of two," Kami assured him. "The instant you were handed over to Frieza, the course of your destiny was altered, running concurrent and waiting for the opportunity to rejoin the original."  
  
Walking along underneath of it, Vegeta followed the line until it came to an abrupt end. "What happened to it?"  
  
His voice almost a whisper, the Namek said, "That's where you died by Frieza's hand."  
  
Vegeta's face tightened at the reminder. Beside him, a mirror rippled with color and he found himself witnessing his deathbed confessional to Gokou, speaking through a mouthful of blood, his eyes bright with remorseful tears. He turned away from the terrible scene with a livid hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the picture away. He still woke up some mornings thinking he was suffocating as he clawed his way out of a grave full of loose dirt. There wasn't a day that went by when he didn't dwell on the torture Frieza had subjected him to during those final moments on Namek; one hundred blows into his back at the blink of an eye, his spine shattering like glass, internal organs ruptured. The tyrant had done him a service shooting him through the heart and speeding his sure slow death. Why couldn't anyone have just LEFT him that way, damn it?!  
  
"The wish that resurrected you back with the others was deliberate in its wording. There was no error. You were intended to return."  
  
"Why?" He didn't appear relieved by the news, quite the opposite.  
  
"There are several reasons," Kami said as he reached up and touched the end of the red line. At that exact point below it, the original ribbon of white resumed its course as it split apart into more than two dozen different colored lines that ran alongside of the original.  
  
"Whoa," Vegeta confessed in a small voice.  
  
Translating what was above them, Kami explained, "Once you were wished back, your destiny resumed its predestined course. Not only that but it is now directly interwoven into the lives of those that you've associated with on this world."  
  
"Kakarott..."  
  
"The green line represents Gokou, yes. He's here. As are Piccolo, Krillin, Gohan, Yamcha, Tien... The orange line is Bulma Briefs."  
  
Vegeta audibly swallowed at the mention of the woman's name and his wandering thoughts were betrayed by the mirror beside them. Both aliens witnessed his tender kiss with her in the drafting department. "Knock it off!" Vegeta snapped to the mirror and the scene faded almost as quickly as it appeared.  
  
Kami observed his distress with amusement. "You care for this woman. It is the only line among this entire collection that is closest to your own."  
  
"Several reasons I got wished back," Vegeta reminded him in a desperate attempt to change the subject. "What's another?"  
  
"Of course. Here is what would have happened if you had been excluded from the wish and remained dead." Kami painfully stretched himself up again and this time at his touch, Vegeta's personal line ended beside the red one where Frieza had killed him. The rest still ran along the ceiling but their length had been drastically shortened. All of them ended at the same point.  
  
"They all...died?"  
  
"Them. The Earth. All life as we know it. Deceased."  
  
Staring up at the Elder Namek in confusion, Vegeta backed up to the start of his original lifeline and counted his steps carefully until he reached the end. Kami watched him with interest as he performed some quick mental calculations and finally said, "Three years from now. You're talking about the arrival of the androids that purple-haired punk warned us about."  
  
Kami had to betray a smile at the Saiyan's ingenuity. He was pleased that his initial decision to permit Vegeta into this fragile chamber had not been in vain after all. Able to rein in his thoughts with impressive self-control, Vegeta was also puzzling out the Destiny Grid with very little assistance. "Very good. Yes, the android threat is the catalyst that brings about the Earth's destruction."   
  
"And my staying dead causes that to happen? Huh. I always figured it'd be the other way around," Vegeta remarked. He actually appeared to be amused by the whole affair. "My presence will actually change how it all turns out?"  
  
"Directly or indirectly, yes," Kami sighed. Above them the lines faded as the effort on the Elder's reserves forced him into dropping it. "I cannot tell for sure. The future is like a mirror's reflection; it can be clearly seen or distorted, even broken. And sometimes, it's very rare, but sometimes the image will turn in on itself, fracturing under the stress and creating an alternate path-"  
  
"-a paradox," Vegeta cut in. "You're talking about the creation of a parallel dimension."   
  
"Precisely," Kami said with wide-eyed shock.  
  
Catching the look, Vegeta sneered at him. "Why does everyone give me that god-damned irritating look of surprise whenever I say or do something rational? I'm not some war-club swinging barbarian, you know."  
  
"I'm very sorry, Vegeta. I meant no insult," the Elder told him sincerely.  
  
Vegeta waved his apology away. He was looking up at the ceiling again and walked a short distance away, his face lighting up with concern. "It ended right around here..."  
  
Alarm settled into the pit of Kami's stomach when he realized what the Saiyan was in the process of doing. "I believe we are done here-"  
  
"-Not yet we're not." Vegeta followed his footsteps on the dusty floor back to where his line had originally started and traced his steps, walking past the flustered Namek until he came to another abrupt stop. "The lines of the others had continued on but mine ended around here," Vegeta mused. He cast Kami a shrouded glare and the old Namek felt his body grow cold at the variety of emotions visible in the small Saiyan's eyes, none of them good. In a cold voice, he stated, "Eight years from now, maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?"  
  
Very deliberately, the elderly Namek could only say, "The future is not written in stone, Vegeta. I-I cannot say for sure one way or the other. I'm-"  
  
Ignoring him, Vegeta was looking into the nearest mirror with only intense concentration in his dark eyes. As if through a fog an apparition appeared before him and he caught a vague glimpse of himself; battered and bloody, his clothes torn. There was a strange design etched onto his forehead-  
  
-His hair was blond.  
  
"What the HELL?!" Vegeta barked in shock, watching helplessly as the vague image dissipated like smoke. He had been a Super-Saiyan! With a cry of rage he brought both fists down on the glass when the reflection refused to reappear.  
  
Kami had watched the scene in complete disbelief, unable to suppress a shiver. Somehow, Vegeta had willed a future vision of himself to appear. It was a skill that not even the seasoned Namek could boast very often and the Saiyan had done it effortlessly. "Vegeta-"  
  
"Goddamn it, come BACK!"  
  
"VEGETA!" Kami bellowed. He suddenly wanted very badly to be out of this room. "It is time that we left."  
  
Turning on him with bared teeth, the outrage was plain on the Saiyan's face as he demanded, "What the fuck was that?! CALL IT BACK!"  
  
"I can't," Kami said in a tired voice. He went to the door and waited, leaning heavily on his cane. Trying not to show his impatience when Vegeta showed absolutely no signs of cooperating with his request, the Namek called out to him, "You have found out the truth to your query with a depth no other man would ever understand. Isn't that enough for one day?"  
  
Staring fixedly at the mirror, Vegeta ignored him as he willed the ghostly apparition to come back, his entire body shuddering with the effort. He saw nothing, not so much as a distant ripple. His concentration had shattered the instant he had caught sight of his hair in those blond spikes. He was still left too shaken to organize whatever mental connection it was that had originally summoned the vision. With an errant finger he stroked the glass in a gesture that was almost a caress. "I...I was a Super-Saiyan." He had to say the words out loud to believe them. "That-that was really me..."  
  
"Vegeta."  
  
He growled at the soft voice and resented it intruding on his thoughts. Glancing over at the Elder, he looked back to the mirror before reluctantly stepping away and joining the relieved Namek out in the corridor.   
  
He visibly flinched when the door behind him slammed shut on its own.  
  
Using his cane for support, Kami took his time as the pair retraced their steps back towards the entrance of the palace. He made numerous attempts at conversation with Vegeta to draw the smaller alien out of his shell and evaluate his mood. The Room of What Was, What Will Be and What Should Have Been was disquieting to even one as old and experienced as he but he could not even begin to comprehend the reaction of such personal revelations to an uninitiated. Despite his efforts, Vegeta had fallen completely silent and said absolutely nothing. With his heightened sensitivity and insight, Kami could almost hear the Saiyan's mind as his thoughts ground together at a relentless pace. It was obvious from his tense manner that the brief moment of civility was over between them. Reluctantly the gentle old Namek fell into a pensive silence.  
  
When they rounded the last corner and the palace doors came into sight Vegeta quickened his pace, almost jogging in his haste to be out of the building.  
  
Falling behind, Kami called after him; "Think on these matters carefully, young prince. Do not do anything rash. Remember that this world needs you!"  
  
The only response he got was a ki blast that blew open the front doors. Without hesitation Vegeta sheathed himself in his blue aura of energy and blasted out of the palace entrance, almost bowling over Piccolo who had been hovering uneasy outside of the doors.  
  
"Vegeta!" he called but the Saiyan was already out of earshot. With tremendous speed he made a graceful arc as he returned planet-side and disappeared past the Lookouts horizon.  
  
Relying heavily on his cane, Kami slowly made his way over to his younger duplicate, his wrinkled emerald features betraying no emotion.  
  
"Should I go after him?" Piccolo asked, wondering what could make the brash Saiyan flee the premises as swiftly as he had.   
  
"No."  
  
The pair watched the blue contrail of energy left in Vegeta's wake scatter to the wind and dissipate until the sky was clear once more. Eventually Piccolo turned to evaluate the other mans face and, when he got no reaction, prompted, "Well? How did things go?"  
  
"I'm not sure," came the enigmatic response.  
  
"What did you say to him?"   
  
"Many things."  
  
His heavy brows drawing together in displeasure, Piccolo realized, "You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"  
  
"No."  
  
Piccolo slapped his hands to his sides in frustration and angrily stalked a short distance away. He never got along with the senior alien on the best of times and generally went out of his way to avoid him. The main reason of that was because he knew that he was just a part that had been cast away as if it was viewed as undesirable; much like a wart or a boil. Before, as little as two years ago, he had never given a damn what people had thought of him until he had abducted Gohan for training. Damned if the little bugger hadn't wormed his annoying ass into his dark heart in a few short months. Following that he had learned the brutal truth of his celestial origins from Vegeta, of all people. In all it had been quite an eye-opener for him. To know he had once been looked at with such utter condemnation from his creator now preyed on his newly developed conscience. Still, it was somewhat reassuring to now have a kinship with this benevolent creature who could offer him some guidance and support whenever he needed it with no questions asked. It was a tie to his alien heritage and to his people he could look forward to.  
  
He suddenly came to a sudden halt and the breath went out of him as if he had been sucker-punched. All of those relieved thoughts carried a bitter reality that was only now becoming obvious to him. All of those things, few though they were...  
  
It was more than Vegeta had.  
  
"Is everything going to be alright now?" he dared to ask.  
  
For the first time, Kami's amiable demeanor faded, granting a glimpse of the alien's true concern and worry. "...I can only hope so."  
  
Piccolo, ever the pessimist did not like the sound of that one bit. "What about the Dragonballs? What do we do if he continues looking for them?"  
  
Wordlessly, his tense features never changing, Kami reached into the many folds of his robe and came up with a circular object clenched in one gnarled hand.  
  
Piccolo eyed the Dragonball radar in complete surprise. "He just gave it to you?"  
  
"No."  
  
When a more elaborate answer was not forthcoming, the younger Namek eyed the Elder shrewdly and then released a bark of laughter. "Why you sly old pickpocket! I never would have thought you capable of such an act."  
  
Betraying a slight smile, Kami returned the object to a hidden pocket and continued to stare off into the bright azure sky. "Of course not," he said at last. "After all, I only passed along my most undesirable attributes to you. Wisdom was not one of them."  
  
Snarling at the deliberate barb, Piccolo decided his presence was no longer welcome and decided to take his leave of the gloating Namek. He took to the air and sped a quick course back to the Son household.  
  
Kami watched him go and stayed in his place. Before long, Mr. Popo appeared from one of the chambers of the deceptively huge palace. Wordlessly, he took his place beside his lifelong friend and mentor, his pleasant dark face never changing as he waited for the elderly Namek to speak first.  
  
After a very long time, Kami released a sigh that seemed to come from the cellar of his soul. He turned to his dearest companion and confessed in a weary tone, "These young ones are going to be the death of me."  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Ten: How will Vegeta react to the revelations that Kami has shown him? Will he attempt to continue his search for the Dragonballs or will he accept what he's learned? Things aren't looking good for the mercurial Saiyan... 


	10. The V'Nhar

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Ten - The V'Nhar  
  
  
Flying around in aimless circles, Vegeta tried desperately to come to terms with everything he had learned in the last hour. He was existing on pure adrenaline now, the rest of his resources stretched thin over the events of the last two weeks. He was exhausted from lack of sleep, weak from hunger, aching from his confrontation with Piccolo and, perhaps worst of all, his self-assured continence was shaken to the core of its foundations. And it had all started with two little words-  
  
"You're fired," Dr. Briefs had told him in a harsh voice twelve days ago. They had to be the most unexpected, hurtful words that the bewildered Saiyan could ever have expected to be the victim of receiving. Their true import was as alien a concept as he was but the message the old man conveyed was loud and clear; He had over-stayed his welcome.  
  
Without comment (he had been rendered utterly speechless by then) Vegeta returned to his quarters, changed and encapsulated his meager belongings. He chose to exit by the bedroom window rather than face any more of the look of disgust on the elder Briefs face or the cringing fear of his woman. He kept telling himself that he had not fled the premises out of shame; that emotion was a human frailty. What he had done under Frieza's command had been dictated by a responsive call in his blood and bones ruled by generations of selective breeding among a race of warriors. He could no more make excuses for his behavior than a human could for breathing. Carnage was his legacy, bloodletting his skill. Battle was all that he lived for because it was all that he knew how to do.  
  
Quite by chance he had caught glimpses of other possibilities during his short time at Capsule Corp. The most staggering realization was his skill at a job he absolutely loathed but appeared fairly competent in doing. He had been unprepared for the almost orgiastic response he had gotten for his schematics of the communications chip; privately pleased it was so well received but bothered by it as well. It dismayed him that he could crank out the designs of alien technology like a photocopier but the reality was that he really had very little comprehension for what he was actually putting to paper. Vegeta knew he would never be able to build anything from what he expertly drew because he was unable to breech that Saiyan intolerance of technology that evolution had yet to correct. And now never would.  
  
Even more perplexing was his attraction to the human woman, Bulma. He had never spent any length of time in a civilian environment before, unused to any period of inactivity. It slowly dawned on him that such lapses of calmness allowed for concepts he had never considered, visible only on worlds he had personally razed. Relationships. Intimacy. Family. These were values that Earth appeared to treasure and ones that the young Briefs woman made clear she was willing to offer. To him.  
  
It hadn't been until he had been huddled over a fire outside of the Western Capital city-limits did he begin to comprehend the import of such odd concepts. That was when the full impact of his loneliness began to prey on his battered self-esteem. The open, caring face of Bulma and the comfort she wanted to share was about the only thing he permitted himself to think about. Very suddenly, he wanted her very much.  
  
At sometime around midnight he left his self-imposed spot of exile and returned to the headquarters building. He landed on the balcony of Bulma's quarters, finding the glass doors locked. He peered into the darkened bedroom with his keen sight and reached out with his mind in search of her vague ki. She wasn't anywhere he could see or sense her. Waiting for several hours he felt no hint of her presence, unable to fathom the disarming worry that had settled in the pit of his stomach.   
  
He dismissed the nagging sensation as simple hunger and jumped to the ground, slipping inside the downstairs level of the building. At one point he had to use his super speed to avoid the security motion detectors and floated along the corridors so he would not trip the weight sensors built into the hallway floors. They were all child's play to detect and avoid even though his mind wasn't fully on the task.  
  
He found Bulma's office unlocked when he reached it, which was a surprise in itself. Entering cautiously he let a portion of himself search outwards, carefully strumming the air-currents of the room. She had been here but it had been many hours ago. The lingering ki was faint at best but he could still detect a hint of tears to her fading presence. And anger. So much anger even he was surprised.  
  
She's gone. That rogue thought implanted itself in his mind and he could not deny it. She's no longer here. She left Capsule Corp. to go-to go... somewhere. He bowed his head in the darkness of the room, shaking his head in dismay. There was no one he could turn to ask where she had gone. He had no friends and soon, word would spread of what had happened here earlier. Condemnation he could tolerate with ease but the gloating humor the earth fighters would have at his expense was intolerable. They were Yamcha's allies, not his and, like the Briefs', they would take the young fighter's side without hesitation.  
  
Breathing in the ethereal scent of Bulma's presence, Vegeta debated stealing Capsule 3 again and returning to space. There was only one problem; Where could he possibly go? Frieza's remaining bases were tearing themselves apart as soldiers battled for a scrap of self-imposed authority. There would be worlds taking advantage of the confusion and retaliating against the last strongholds of Frieza's forces. There was only civil war waiting for him if he returned to that chaos and he would find himself the main target of that aggression by all sides involved. He was absolutely loathed by soldiers and worlds alike and it was highly likely that there was a lingering bounty on his head erected by King Cold himself before his death. He no longer had Frieza's intimidating shadow to hide behind anymore. He knew he wouldn't last a day in that frenzied environment if he dared to ever return. Like it or not, he was stuck on Earth.  
  
Then he saw it, sitting placidly on a dusty shelf behind her desk. It was propped up beside a framed photo of Bulma posing with her friends. She was sitting on Gokou's shoulders giving the peace sign while Oolong was underneath trying to catch a glimpse of her panties. Yamcha had a possessive arm entwined around her waist. Everyone looked like they were having a very fine time indeed. Vegeta ignored all of that nonsense, concentrating solely on that circular object as he crossed the room. He had only seen the device once, clutched in Gohan's small hand on Namek but he recognized it immediately.  
  
The Dragonball radar.  
  
He picked it up and studied it curiously. An idea started squirming through his troubled thoughts to get to the forefront of his mind, suggesting a possible way to resolve this situation to everyone's satisfaction.  
  
Batteries are probably dead with my damn luck, he brooded and depressed the switch at the top in resignation. To his surprise the green dial immediately lit up. A blinking yellow arrow was pointing north by northwest. Staring at the readout in confusion, Vegeta knew that it would take some time for him to puzzle out how the radar worked. He shut it off and tucked it into his coat pocket in preparation to leave Capsule Corp. for what was going to be his final time.  
  
Now, close to two weeks later the thought of the Dragonballs was the furthest thing from his mind. Plaguing his thoughts were Kami's ominous words and that striking image of him as a Super-Saiyan. He couldn't seem to shake it.  
  
He ended up dropping out of the sky into an unknown city, generating a degree of attention as he landed in the middle of a busy commercial area. The pedestrian traffic in this late afternoon was chiefly shoppers and tourists who liked to rubberneck at the best of times. Scanning the contrasting storefront signs he purposely ignored the people who had stopped and were pointing at him and talking. Many of the signs he read were complete gibberish to him: Weird Willies Wares, The House That Beef Built, The Electronicator. He was about to give up on this madhouse when he saw the word he was looking for.  
  
Hotel.  
  
Several people were following after him as he walked along the sidewalk. He cast one cautioning backward glance at them and then entered the building.  
  
The young man behind the front desk looked up in his direction and immediately straightened his spine, his expression wary. Approaching him was a short fellow with an unruly upsweep of dark hair wearing clothes that were ripped and filthy and splattered with what looked like blood. The man's face was bruised and flushed with emotion, most likely anger if his wild-eyed look was any indication.  
  
He's gotta be on drugs, the desk clerk thought uneasily as Vegeta came up in front of him. Nobody normal looks like that!  
  
"I want a room," Vegeta demanded.  
  
"Yessir," the clerk said quickly. "Single or double?"  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"Any floor preference?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you mind a view of the-"  
  
"What's with all of the fucking questions?!" Vegeta yelled into his face. "I just want a goddamned room with a bed and a shower! How much trouble is that?"  
  
"N-no trouble, sir," the younger man squeaked. He went to the nearby computer and typed in a few characters with trembling fingers. "Room 203 on the second floor is available, sir."  
  
"Fine," Vegeta sighed, the anger leaving him as quickly as it had come. He desperately needed to get some sleep so he could gain a fresh perspective on recent events. After that would be a major clean up job followed by a humongous meal but sleep was paramount. He was practically swaying on his feet.  
  
"...er, that'll be one hundred and fifty zeni, sir," the clerk informed him, audibly swallowing.  
  
Nodding wearily, Vegeta reached to his back pocket where he kept his wallet. Dr. Briefs had given him a generous cash advance when he had presented the original draft of the communications chip to his department. If he watched his budget carefully he might be able to make it last for two months. Hopefully that would be time enough for him to figure out just what the hell he was going to do to survive on this world.  
  
His hand lingered at his back pocket and the sullen anger on his face slowly dissolved into one of shock. The clerk saw that look and braced himself for the worst. "Sir?"  
  
His wallet was gone. The entire fabric of the pocket had been ripped off, no doubt during his brawl with Piccolo up north. He had lost all of his money including the citizenship card that Capsule Corp. had made for him. Even worst, the capsule containing all of his belongings had been tucked into one of the slots.  
  
All lost.  
  
"Oh- !!SHIT!!" He bellowed, bringing one fist down on the desk and collapsing the wooden structure with the blow. The young clerk dove for the floor with a terrified squawk and huddled there as the debris from his desk toppled around him. Everything went quiet following that scene and when the man braved himself to look around he saw that the crazy, drug-using psycho had left the lobby. There were people gathered outside of the door pointing to the sky for some unknown reason. He was just relieved to see the weird little dude gone from his sight.  
  
  
Vegeta fruitlessly attempted to find his way back to the forest where he had battled Piccolo but soon discovered that one swatch of thick woods looked exactly like another. Hoping that the Dragonball was still at the site he reached into his coat pocket for the radar only to find that missing as well. He was beyond indignation by then, hardly able to absorb any more input. Lost to base instinct he swept back and forth across countless hectares of forestland for hours until his depleted system forced him to the ground. He fell where he landed, curling into a miserable ball and succumbing to his overwhelming exhaustion that was partly delayed shock. The blackness curled around his bleak thoughts with eager speed and he found himself hoping he wouldn't wake up as he willingly surrendered to the darkness.  
  
Unfortunately, an unknown length of time later consciousness dawned and he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was lying in a damp nest of rotting pine needles and moss, the early afternoon air heavy with mist that partially obscured the woods that closed in around him from all sides. It was drizzling lightly and he powered up his ki as he sat up to stave off the chill and help dry his clothes. The small act actually took an effort. He hugged his knees to his chest and wondered bleakly what he was possibly going to do now. No money, no identity, no possessions. If he attempted to take things by force he was outnumbered by the Z fighters who didn't like him at the best of times. They would be itching for an excuse just like this to kick his ass. The situation was utterly hopeless and he wasn't surprised when the trees around him blurred through a veil of indignant tears.  
  
"Crying again, Vegeta no Ouji," barked a gruff voice from directly behind him making him jump in surprise. "You've let this sorry excuse for a planet break you."  
  
Vegeta found himself frozen in place in his shock, unable to turn around. The language being spoken was the Saiyajin dialect and the voice- He knew that voice. "...Radditz?" He asked in a small, disbelieving voice.  
  
"In the flesh, my prince. What pitifully little of it that I have left anyway," came the sour retort.  
  
Swallowing, Vegeta forced himself to look over his shoulder even as his other senses were cautioning him against the act. He could smell the acrid stench that had filled the small clearing, making the bile rise in his throat and forcing him to breath through his mouth. There was also the low buzz of hungry flies that were attracted by the smell of decay. The woods had gone preternaturally silent around him, the wildlife abandoning the area as if sensing the wrongness there and leaving him to his fate. Vegeta turned and his face tightened in disgust when he regarded what was left of his former Saiyan ally.  
  
His time in Hell had not passed easily for Radditz. The formidable bulk of proud warrior muscle now hung like limp ropes of decaying flesh from bones that were visible through ragged tears in the gray skin. The protective armor hung on his emaciated frame, the arm and leg bands having fallen off long ago. There was the blast hole through his chest caused by Piccolo's ki fire and Vegeta could see right through him. He could also see...things writhing in that terrible wound, eating and breeding in that rotting nest of flesh. Radditz grinned at the look of horror on his former superior's face, exposing teeth that were black, rotten stubs and were in the process of falling out. Maggots churned in the holes where his eyes had been. The luxurious mane of raven hair that had fallen to the back of his knees was now thin and lank, exposing areas of his scalp that was flayed down to the bone.  
  
"You look like shit," Vegeta said at last.  
  
Throwing his head back, Radditz gave voice to boisterous laughter at the comment. He did so for quite some time before he started coughing up the larvae that had been laid in his lungs and spit up a combination of bugs and congealed blood. As he wiped his mouth he had to snicker, "I was going to say the exact same thing to you but I guess you've got me on that one. Well said, my prince."  
  
"Thanks," he said with a marked lack of enthusiasm.   
  
"I didn't want you to see me as I am but Nappa is still trying to piece his body together and he couldn't come. You really did a number on him."  
  
"He was a weak and ineffectual imbecile. He deserved to be executed for his failure."  
  
The humor went out of Radditz at that. "We were the last of Vegetasei to survive its destruction. We raised you ourselves and this was how you repaid our loyalty? You told Nappa that wishing me back with the Dragonballs was a waste. You murdered your own bodyguard when he was too injured to defend himself. Here you are shedding childish tears because you're alone and it's all your fault to begin with!"  
  
Jumping to his feet with a snarl, Vegeta pointed a trembling finger to his former comrade and yelled, "You will NOT talk to me in that manner! I am your prince and you will address me as such! Do you understand?"  
  
"What're you gonna do? Kill me?" Radditz sneered contemptuously. "I don't think so."  
  
"Why are you here? State your reason and leave. Your stink is scaring away the game in the area."  
  
"I've come to give you a warning."  
  
"Is that a fact?"  
  
"Vegeta, you have allowed yourself to succumb to the V'Nhar."  
  
That cut through Vegeta's anger. V'Nhar; the Hunger. A condition derived from poor eating habits where the Saiyan metabolism turned in on itself, cannibalizing the very ki that it should be maintaining. The last thing resembling a meal that he had eaten in the last few days had been the heart he had torn out of the grizzly. He could die from this if he didn't start eating immediately.  
  
Nodding, he gave Radditz a 'go away' gesture. "You have passed along your concern. You can go."  
  
"You can't excuse me like I'm one of your lackeys, Vegeta," Radditz grated out menacingly. "I came because I wanted to and I won't leave until I'm damned good and ready."  
  
"Your disposition borders on insubordination, soldier," Vegeta said, on the edge of serious anger. "Remember your place."  
  
Growling with spite, the Saiyan corpse spit a mouthful of gore at Vegeta's feet, advancing on him. The smaller man immediately backed away from that approaching horror until his back connected with the trunk of a tree. Radditz's bulk prevented any chance of escape. His moldering features loomed in like a nightmare and his putrescent breath soured the air when he spoke. "You are nothing to me, little prince. I command a legion of warriors in Hell. My name is spoken with respect because I was felled in battle and had the privilege of taking Kakarott with me when I died. It was more than you ever accomplished. If there's anyone here who should be paying homage to their superior, YOU should be bowing to ME."   
  
Sputtering with rage, Vegeta struggled to get away from this loathsome creature. There was no way it could be Radditz, he was thinking in something close to a panic. That weak baka soldier had been terrified of him. He would never have the guts to insult him in such a manner. Urgently, he pushed against the stinking figure only to have one of his hands sink into the moist flesh. When he pulled it out it was covered in rancid yellow pus that swarmed with black beetles. With a choked cry he tried to shake them off.  
  
Radditz pushed him back against the tree. "All of the Saiyans in Hell watched your defeat at the hands of Frieza. Your own father the King watched you when you wept tears like a weak woman and beg for my younger brother to kill the tyrant in your place. He disowned you on the spot, cursing your name. When Kakarott achieved the revered level of Super-Saiyan, King Vegeta said that he was more worthy of being his son then you ever were."  
  
All of the blood drained from Vegeta's face. He was shaking his head in denial even as words failed him. Radditz moved in until their faces were mere inches apart. His fetid breath smelled like flyblown meat. "Face facts, little prince. You're a failure in everything you've ever done. You failed your father, you failed your people and you failed our world. The reason you're at the mercy of this mudball is because you were too weak to conquer it-"  
  
"...No," Vegeta whispered. "It was...four against one. The fight had no honor. I was denied my right to die in the field by your own brother-"  
  
"-He gave you a gift and all you've done is piss and moan about it ever since it happened," Radditz hissed, his foul breath permeating Vegeta's aching senses.   
  
Fighting back the urge to retch, Vegeta countered with, "I never asked him for that. He shamed me when he spared my life."  
  
"And here you are eager to end it. Why not do us the honor of sparing us from witnessing more of your failures and kill yourself right here? Power up the ki in your hand and plunge it through your chest," Radditz suggested mildly.  
  
Through clenched teeth, Vegeta hissed, "Don't you tempt me. I've been thinking about that."  
  
Radditz whirled away from him laughing again. Free of his presence, Vegeta slid roughly down the bark of the tree until he was left sitting on the ground, numb with shock and visibly shaking. "Look at you!" the feculent warrior declared with insane glee. "You can't even stand! There you are trembling like a pathetic little child, unable to handle the truth. Your days are numbered anyway, Vegeta. We both know it. Do yourself a favor and end it right here and now."  
  
"Damn you, Radditz-" Vegeta curled his right hand into an unsteady fist.  
  
"Come on, little prince. You can do it," Radditz urged with that maniacal grin on his rotting face. "Come back to us. Your people are all waiting for you. It'll be one great big homecoming party of the damned."  
  
Vegeta was still shaking his head in denial even as his fist began to glow. "I-I still have things to-to do here..."  
  
"Nappa is waiting for you. So is your father. Even your mother who you murdered when you ripped yourself free of her womb. All of the Saiyajin are waiting for their only prince. I'll escort you there personally." Radditz extended a hand to him in invitation, looking as if he were offering the biggest favor on Earth.  
  
The gesture was very appealing. Raising his glowing fist to eye level, Vegeta watched the energies swirl and coalesce into a white-hot dagger of fire that would be capable of piercing his alien flesh in one swift stroke. If he did it right he could be dead before thought had time to become purpose. That would leave him free to take Radditz's hand and be reunited with all of his people at long last. He would no longer be the last of his line anymore. He would no longer be alone. The crackle of harnessed ki was like a siren's call to him, assuring him that all it would take would be a mere second of pain before he would get the immortality he desired. Sweat ran down his face like tears. He had to grip his arm with his free hand to steady it so badly was it shaking. Just as he was about to plunge that sliver of deadly fire into his brain-  
  
-He dropped his arm. "...no..." he murmured in exhaustion, the energies dissipating like smoke. Looked up at the hulking corpse and in a stronger voice he said clearly, "No."  
  
"You worthless little worm," Radditz spat. "Your courage is as stunted as your body! You're useless! You're a failure! You're a joke! You're-"  
  
"You're going back to HELL!" Vegeta yelled and blasted the rampaging cadaver with an explosion that echoed throughout the timber. When the smoke cleared there was no trace of Radditz, fueling the doubt he had ever been there to begin with.  
  
...It-it had to be a delusion brought on by the V'Nhar, he thought, wiping away the moisture from his brow, disregarding the heat radiating from his temple. He was quaking very badly from the encounter. There's no way that could have been Radditz. That weak prick would just as soon piss his pants than anger me in such a manner. In fact, if I see him again I'm going to nail him right in the-  
  
A hand suddenly dropped heavily on his shoulder. Screaming, Vegeta scrambled to his feet and blasted out of the clearing without so much as a look back. All he would have seen would have been one befuddled Boy Scout no more than eight years old who was out on a day hike with his troop. After absorbing the scene with slack-jawed astonishment, the boy quickly sprinted back to where the rest of his friends had gathered to rest, yelling about flying aliens.  
  
Needless to say, nobody believed him.  
  
  
Racing a direct course west, Vegeta made the resolve that whether or not there was a civil war or price on his head, he was going to steal Capsule 3 and return to space. If he was going to die, at least he'd be able to take some pricks right along with him as opposed to committing suicide in a stupid forest. Earth had been nothing but a source of defeat and despair for him. If he still had his tail right now, it would be up between his legs like a beaten cur. It was time to leave this damn planet for good.  
  
Scarcely before the Western Capital came into view he sensed their ki's. All of them. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach and he landed outside of the city limits and proceeded to enter on foot, concentrating on keeping his personal ki hidden from their sensitive minds. When he reached the center of the city, he cautiously peered around the corner of a building that was directly across from Capsule Corp. granting him an unobstructed view of the front courtyard. All of the Z fighters were assembled together in front of the main building entrance. Kakarott, Piccolo, Gohan, Yamcha, Krillin, Tien, Chiaotzu, 0hell, even that perverted old fossil Master Roshi was there with the walking pig and the fat bastard samurai in tow and none of them had gathered for a party. Dr. Briefs was addressing them, his arms waving wildly and Vegeta ducked behind the building, his heart racing in his chest.   
  
The old fuck has formed a damn posse! he thought in disbelief. He flinched as someone passed by overhead and dove for cover behind a dumpster. Krillin swept past, traveling low and keeping his speed to a minimum as he inspected the area. The Saiyan could feel the little monk's thoughts radiating outwards like radar, attempting to home in on his distinctive ki. He didn't even allow himself to think until the bald little midget moved on, searching the city block by block. The others radiated outwards in other directions granting Vegeta a glimmer of hope that perhaps the Capsule he wanted would be unguarded.  
  
Braving himself for another look, he should have realized that good fortune was not in his cards. Not only were the old man and his useless tag-alongs there but Gokou had also stayed behind to talk to Dr. Briefs. The old man was visibly upset and Gokou, ever the peacemaker, was trying to console him in his grief. Vegeta felt a pang of that murderous intent well inside him and he was tempted to charge right over and kill the old bastard for what he had reduced him to: skulking around alleys like a homeless vagrant. Now he had to add insult to injury and hire the Z goons to hunt him down like some wild animal.  
  
He retreated back to the familiar territory of the city's main park, counting on the thick foliage to shield him from any aerial scrutiny. Obviously, he had to get back to the outer limits and into the woods where he could survive indefinitely but he had to wait for it to get dark before he dared to leave the safety of the park and risk moving out in the open. The night was a Saiyan's element, moon or no moon and he could wait for its arrival. Moving off of the main path he went deeper into the woods until the scents of intruding humans faded and he found a spot where he would be unbothered. Crawling under thick bushes, he made a reasonably comfortable nest amid the dry leaves and settled down, trying to clear his aching mind. He was asleep the instant he laid his head on the ground.  
  
At sometime around dusk, he awoke completely disoriented and not refreshed by his extended slumber in the least. When realization finally came to him it did very little to ease his anxiety and he spared an anxious glance skywards through parts in the bushes. He elected to remain where he was until night had completely fallen and it seemed to take forever as he fidgeted nervously in his hiding place. Of all of the indignities of the past year this had to be the absolute worst; being hunted down like an animal. There was nothing in his experience that even remotely resembled this depth of degradation. He was supposed to be the hunter, not the prey but that was exactly what he had been reduced to. Weak, retreating prey.  
  
When he was satisfied it was dark enough he found his way back to the main path that led out of the park. At one point a cramp drilled into his mid-section forcing him over to a nearby bench and he sat doubled over until the spell passed. V'Nhar. If he didn't get some food into him soon he was going to be rendered completely helpless and at the mercy of the Z Fighters. Forcing himself back to his feet he left the safety of the park and headed in the direction that he hoped would get him out of the city quickly.  
  
On two separate occasions he ducked out of sight of policemen as they patrolled the sidewalks, knowing his blood-splattered attire would attract the wrong attention. Once, he sensed Piccolo do a fly-by several blocks away. Generally he stuck to the shadows as best he could, meandering his way eastwards through alleyways, between buildings and around parking lots. It was slow progress; he would have preferred to fly but didn't dare risk the chance of detection so he plodded on, muttering a steady monotone of curses.  
  
As he rounded one corner he suddenly froze. His numb senses detected a faint scent, one he instantly recognized. SHE had been here! He closed his eyes and evaluated the perfumed scent, tasting it, evaluating every molecule of information it could tell him about its owner. Instead of going right, he turned left, now heading in the opposite direction of his original course as he followed the tendrils of that particular woman's aroma. It was familiar and unthreatening, two things he desperately needed at this very moment and it got stronger until he was finally standing in front of a magnificent townhouse. He regarded the three story tall structure in weary amazement. So this was what the woman called home. He raised his fist to bring it down on the door and ended up pushing the doorbell instead. Putting his hands in his pockets he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.  
  
The door opened and SHE was there. Betraying one astonished blink of surprise, she regarded him with wary concern. "Vegeta? Is that you?"  
  
"Can I...come in?" he asked hollowly, unable to make eye contact so great was his shame.  
  
"Sure...sure, come on in," she said, stepping aside to let him into the building. She stared after him in amazement before allowing herself a predator's grin of satisfaction.  
  
"How the mighty have fallen," Dorothy Pereaux whispered in a smug little voice before closing the door and locking it.  
  
  
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A/N: Yep! It's that actress who ticked off Bulma in Chapter 5 by making advances at Vegeta in the park. What you think about THIS little development! :)  
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Chapter Eleven: Bulma has moved out of Capsule Corp. attempting to find Vegeta on her own and rejecting any assistance from friends or family. As things become grim, who finds whom first? 


	11. The Final Straw

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Eleven - The Final Straw  
  
  
Had Bulma not made her drastic decision to leave Capsule Corporation as suddenly as she did, the situation would have probably resolved itself that very night when Vegeta returned looking for her. However, that was not what happened.  
  
She wasted little time grieving the Saiyan's disappearance. Such displays were a temporary setback before her own resolve took over as past situations have shown. Utilizing her own tenacious strength of character she collected herself and went to her own quarters doing precisely what Vegeta had done a mere hour earlier. She threw all of her clothes and necessities into the center of the room and encapsulated them for later when she would have the time to sort them all out. After that she returned to her lab and typed up a brief letter of resignation and simply forwarded it to her father's e-mail account. The entire section was still in an uproar over the cancellation of the project and Charles was being transported to the infirmary ward as he tried to cope with an anxiety attack. In the middle of the confusion, Bulma slipped out of the building completely unnoticed and it wouldn't be until late the next day when it dawned on her father when she had not shown up for work that he bothered to check his messages. After reading her letter he almost ended up joining Charles.  
  
Leaving the Western Capital in her favorite hoverjet, Bulma headed east to the Australian archipelago where Vegeta had retreated several weeks before. There was nothing to find. The last island had succumbed to the ocean and lay submerged with the rest in the teal green waters. Several Navy frigates were investigating the area, no doubt curious what could cause such wide spread devastation and she received a warning over the communications radio that she had entered a cordoned off area that was a no-fly zone. She complied and set a course to return where she had come from, not eager to begin a debate with the Military when she couldn't even win one against her own father. The Navy had a right to be so jumpy since Nappa had personally decimated a third of their destroyers and carriers resulting in a terrible loss of life. Not for the first time, Bulma was grateful that Vegeta had exercised the restraint in allowing his former bodyguard do all of the damage until the fight was no longer being broadcast. Everyone on Earth who had watched the televised combat only seemed to remember the huge warrior, not the diminutive 'sidekick' who had accompanied him. In all of the periodicals and news stories that followed the brief confrontation there wasn't a decent shot of Vegeta in any of them. Nappa's ugly face however was another story and there were still children having nightmares from the published close-ups of his face leering in the camera.  
  
Bulma returned to the Capital but NOT Capsule Corp. She got a suite at the city's most affluent hotel; the Hammorski Plaza. It was a towering skyscraper of unique architecture that catered to the fabulously wealthy and eccentric. The upper twenty floors were condominiums for those fortunate enough to afford the cost and the sprawling penthouse was currently occupied by one of the planets most powerful politicians. Bulma chose this place for two reasons; One, Capsule Corp. retained a suite for visiting shareholders and plant managers and the staff would be immediately aware of who she was. Two, the Plaza had state-of-the-art security devices and a well-trained staff of guards who took their duties of obliging their well-off guests of privacy very seriously. Bulma meant it when she told the front desk manager that she didn't want to be disturbed by friends and family alike. Not even bothering to feign surprise, the man assured her of her unanimity as she checked in.  
  
Settling into the suite, Bulma sorted through her belongings and packed them away in the drawers like a person who intended to stay for quite awhile. She knew this situation was not going to blow over in a mere day or two and resolved to make herself comfortable while enjoying all of the perks of room service while Capsule Corp. footed the bill. She lasted until evening before breaking down and calling her mother to assure her that she was all right. Both women had shared a good, long cry over the phone until her father picked up the receiver, asking her where she was. Bulma hung up on him without a word.  
  
For the next week, Bulma kept track of satellite images and ran comparisons with the landscapes trying to catch sight of another Vegeta-like temper tantrum similar to the one off the coast of Australia. There wasn't even a minute earthquake tremor to report. The program she wrote to scan all of the planet's online newspapers for acts of violence appeared promising at first until she entered the base criteria that limited the acts to one person. Aside from a few rampaging gunmen, there were no similarities to who she was looking for. Quite unexpectedly, Vegeta had gone to ground and was deliberately keeping himself scarce. Bulma could not profess to know the Saiyan very well but his sudden disappearance unnerved her, fearing he was plotting some terrible thing that would not reveal itself until it was too late. Operating in the shadows was his specialty and, as much as she would like to deny it she knew his motivations leaned towards a much darker purpose. As the days wore on, her dread only intensified.  
  
She kept in contact with her mother, needing both the reassurance and the familial support and it was rare when the conversation ended that they both weren't in tears. Still refusing to speak to her father, Bulma was poised to slam down the receiver when she heard the sound of a man's voice in the background. It was Yamcha, urgently trying to apologize for all that had happened.  
  
"-have to believe me when I tell you that I didn't intend to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, Bulma. Please see things from my point of view. I thought he would eventually kill you!" The words were practically tangling themselves in his haste to get them out.  
  
Despite herself, Bulma dared to ask, "Have you...gotten any sense of him, Yamcha?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I can't-" her voice threatened to break and she fought for control, not willing to burst into tears with the man responsible for her misery listening on the other end. "I've been trying to find him but I'm not having any luck. Do you know if he's been around the Capital or Capsule Corp?"  
  
"I don't think he's anywhere near the city, Bulma," came the reluctant answer. "I was going to go to Gokou and see if maybe he can-"  
  
"NO!" she screamed into the receiver. "If Vegeta so much as senses him nearby all they'll do is fight. You know that as much as I do. Leave him alone, Yamcha. I think he'll come back on his own if he's given his space."  
  
"Bulma, I don't think-"  
  
"-That's the whole source of this problem; You-don't-think. Leave him alone," she repeated and hung up on his words of debate. After that, she went back to her computer and resumed her tireless scan of the earth's surface long into the night. When dawn broke, she wearily dragged herself into the bedroom and laid down on the soft surface clothes and all, falling into a restless sleep.  
  
  
It was a beautiful morning for a swim.  
  
Clad in a two-piece bikini held together by straining triangles of cloth Dorothy Pereaux dove into the pool and began her morning laps. Sitting on a chair nearby, a portable stereo was blaring away a selection of hard rock. On the settee table was a tray with muffins, fruit and orange juice. The patio doors that led into the living room of the townhouse were wide open.  
  
Dorothy splashed in the water deliberately and, after several laps she pulled herself out of the water, flinging her raven locks back and assuming an erotic pose as she looked towards the patio.  
  
There was no one there.   
  
With a huff she grabbed a towel and dried herself off and stamped into the living room to glare down at the figure that was sprawled on the leather sofa. Ever since he had shown up at her door over twelve hours ago, Vegeta had been passed out on its surface, oblivious of anything. Not the most charitable of individuals she had elected to leave him be, unnaturally cowed by his battered, sickly appearance. She had managed to get him to part with his clothes to have her housekeeper wash them and would have tried to get him into her bedroom but he only made it as far as the couch. When she went to get a blanket he was asleep in the few minutes that it took her to return.  
  
As she continued her inspection, her scowl of agitation faded at the sight of him. Lying on his back with the blanket down to his waist the actress found herself as attracted to him as she had been the first day she had seen him jogging. He was a direct opposite of the men who made up her usual sexual diet; all tall, vacuous, aspiring young actors who were eager to share her bed in exchange for a phone number or a bit part in a movie. She was so accustomed to having men fawn over her that she had been entirely caught off guard when she had started her usual flirtatious advances to Vegeta and had him roughly tell her to fuck off. He was short, abusive, a walking hair disaster-  
  
-and one hell of a turn on. From that point she was determined to make him her next conquest, exhilarated by the prospect of a chase. He had just begun tolerating her when he started jogging with the young Briefs woman. After being on the receiving end of a possessive glare of challenge from that blue haired harpy, Dorothy had wisely backed off. She considered herself well versed in the complex dance of relationships, having been married and divorced three times in her admitted forty-two years. She was content to wait on the sidelines and observe them at a distance, patient to wait until the situation corrected itself.  
  
Kneeling down beside Vegeta's sleeping form, she considered his profile. Oblivious of his true origins she figured that he was probably Italian or Greek, perhaps even of Middle Eastern descent taking into account his faint, elusive accent. As she ran a light hand across his firm chest she marveled at his flawless build. He had told her that he was skilled at martial arts and she could believe it, the corded muscles of his chest and shoulders flexing even while he slept. She could see faint bruises peppered along his torso and muscular arms and with a devilish grin, she reasoned that she should resume her inspection to ensure that all was well. Sliding her hand along his hard stomach it disappeared beneath the blanket and her smile widened in accomplishment as her fingers closed around his flaccid warmth. Pleased by what her touch revealed, she began her skillful ministrations as she studied his relaxed features, waiting for his response.  
  
An instant later she was propelled backwards into the chair opposite the sofa and Vegeta was sitting up, his eyes wide with shock and hatred. His reaction had been so quick that she hadn't even seen him move and any other person would have sensed the wrongness to that arcane speed.  
  
Dorothy merely lounged back in the chair as she crossed her long legs and said sweetly, "Good morning, Vegeta. Did you sleep well?"  
  
His face flushing with indignant rage, Vegeta opened his mouth to begin screaming at her and suddenly caught a stray scent. He sniffed the air and looked over in the direction of the pool area, his stomach growling. Noticing his clothes neatly folded on the coffee table, he threw the blanket aside and pulled on his faded jeans, well aware of the appreciative stare of the hostess. He disregarded her and padded barefoot out onto the patio, discovering the breakfast tray and sat down to eat.  
  
Chuckling lightly, Dorothy came up beside him and ran a hand along the back of his neck. The muscles between his shoulders tensened at the contact and he froze in place until she moved on. Laying the towel over the backrest of the chair she returned to the pool to continue her morning laps.  
  
Flashing her one resentful glare, Vegeta focused his attention back on the food in front of him. He made short work of the muffins, not even bothering to remove the paper cups and consumed the oranges and bananas skin and all. When he poured himself a glass of juice he had to use both of his hands to steady the glass when he raised it to his mouth. This slight meal did nothing for the V'Nhar and barely took the edge off of his hunger which was close to becoming debilitating. He needed protein. More importantly he needed meat.  
  
Even as Dorothy was calling for him to join her in the pool, he went back into the house to search for the kitchen. When he found the refrigerator he opened the door expectantly, remembering the well-stocked shelves back at Capsule Corp. He almost howled in dismay at what he found instead.  
  
Dorothy was in the process of getting herself back in shape for an upcoming movie and her fridge and cupboard were bare of anything that even remotely resembled a temptation. A strict Vegan, there wasn't even cheese or eggs in the fridge only greens of every conceivable shape and size. Rummaging around he pulled out a block of white substance, studying the label in bewilderment. T-O-F-U. Sniffing it experimentally he only came away even more confused by what his senses told him. It appeared an edible concoction but he wasn't quite sure what to make of it until a cramp seized him and he had to lean on the counter for support. His surroundings dimmed and slowly came swimming back, leaving him weak and light-headed. More out of desperation than hunger, he unwrapped the contents of the package and forced it down, grimacing against the taste and waiting to see if his stomach would accept the offering or rebel against it. He was pleasantly surprised to feel some of his strength return and more than a little relieved. He began to search the contents of the fridge of more of this tasteless, gummy, miraculous substance.  
  
After realizing that Vegeta had walked out on her, Dorothy pulled herself out of the pool again and went in pursuit. She found him in the kitchen finishing off a bottle of olives and shelved her annoyance at the sight of him. That previous sickly pallor of his had abated somewhat and he appeared in better spirits. Pulling up one of the stools, she settled herself on it and supported her chin on one hand. Considering him thoughtfully for a moment she finally spoke up. "So, are you enjoying the hospitality of the Pereaux Bed and Breakfast?"  
  
"The menu is definitely lacking," was all he had to say on the matter. He finished the last olive and upended the bottle to drink the salty liquid.  
  
"I have a movie coming up. The director said I have to lose eight pounds or he'll recast the lead."  
  
He frowned at her. "Are you serious? Why do you put up with that shit?"  
  
"Because I enjoy my comforts," she admitted, gesturing at her surroundings. "Same as you, I imagine."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You were living at Capsule Corp., the very lap of luxury itself. Last night you showed up looking like you were wearing clothes donated from goodwill. What happened with the Briefs?"  
  
Drumming his fingers absently on the countertop, he chose his words carefully, not willing to give this woman any more ammunition than she all ready had. "There was a...slight disagreement. It was for the best that I left."  
  
"You couldn't go to a hotel?"  
  
"I lost my damn wallet."  
  
Smiling for no reason he could determine, Dorothy mused, "I'm surprised that the Briefs girl would let you go so easily."  
  
"Bulma moved out. I don't know where she's gone. If I did, I certainly wouldn't be here."  
  
Her false smile dropped at that. "You ungrateful little shit. You sleep on my couch and eat my food and don't even extend me the courtesy of a simple thank-you. What's to stop me from kicking you out on your sorry ass right now?"  
  
Kicking the fridge door shut behind him, he said, "You won't do that."  
  
"Is that a fact? Why the hell not?" she seethed.  
  
Flashing her a smile that contained absolutely no humor he leaned over the counter and dropped his voice to a husky tone as he informed her, "It's clear what you want from me; a good, thorough fuck that'll roll you eyes back into your skull. I'm telling you right now, don't hold your breath, bitch."  
  
She matched his forceful stare until they both blinked at the exact same moment, breaking that spell of stubborn wills. They were well matched in temperament and attitudes and this would have been almost a game if the stakes weren't so high. Of the two, Dorothy burst out laughing first. "I always get what I want one way or the other, Vegeta. What do you think about that?"  
  
"I think I'm tired," he yawned and left the kitchen to return to the sofa.  
  
"You know, my bedroom is just upstairs," she called after him.  
  
He released a bark of bitter laughter at the mere suggestion. "You'll have to try better than that," he informed her. He pulled the light blanket over himself and deliberately showed her his back as he settled down to rest.  
  
Well accustomed to such cat and mouse games, Dorothy calmly smiled and said to herself, "Oh, I plan to do better than just try..."  
  
  
By afternoon, Bulma was worn down from too many sleepless nights and her unending worry. She left the hotel to go shopping and get her mind off of her grief and it worked, to an extent. That is until she would see something that would remind her of the brash Saiyan and her misery would return. When she left the mall and saw a lone pretzel vendor at the curb she felt her heart lurch in her chest, thinking of a much simpler time in the park what seemed like an eternity ago. Deliberating turning her back on the sight, she saw the woman standing at the curb across the street impatiently waiting for a cab.   
  
"Ms. Pereaux!" she called, running over to her.  
  
Muttering a curse, the actress reluctantly cast a sidelong glance figuring it to be another autograph collector. When she saw Bulma approach she relaxed, but not by much. "Bulma. I almost didn't recognize you without your tight little jogging outfit on," she greeted coolly.  
  
"I haven't been jogging much lately," Bulma said, letting the veiled sarcasm slide.  
  
"Oh?" The actress considered her for a moment and then attempted slyly, "Come to think of it I haven't seen you or your rude boyfriend lately. How are things between you two?"  
  
"Not the best, I'm afraid. Vegeta's moved out and I'm trying to find him-"  
  
"Is that a fact," Dorothy mused, trying to contain a gloating smile.  
  
Bulma was rummaging through her purse and didn't see that expression on the older woman's face. She pulled out a notebook and a pen and began to scrawl an address and a phone number on a sheet of paper. "I'm staying at the Hammorski in this suite. Vegeta is new to the Capital and not familiar with the area. If, in the off chance that you do see him, could you tell him where I am? I'd really appreciate it."  
  
Dorothy took the paper from her and glanced at it once before putting it in her pocket. She was about to release one of her scathing remarks and saw the faint look of hope on the other woman's face. Shelving her usual pessimism, she took one of Bulma's hands said calmly, "I'm not going to offer you any false hope, Bulma. The Western Capital is a very big city. I'll try to keep an eye out for him. If I ever do see him, you can be sure I'll give him this address."  
  
Tears welled in the corners of Bulma's eyes as she read the apparent sincerity in the tall woman's face. "Thank you, Ms. Pereaux. You don't know what this means to me."  
  
"I think I do," she responded, grateful as a cab pulled up to the curb. Getting inside, she added, "Don't give up hope, girl. I'm sure you'll find him soon."  
  
"Thank you!" Bulma yelled after the retreating cab, waving enthusiastically. She returned to her suite after that chance meeting in slightly better spirits, oblivious to the fact that she had given a damaging bit of information to the one person who had the unscrupulous nature to use it to her advantage.  
  
As the cab sped away Dorothy believed it was as if fate were following a carefully written script that she would have the luck to run into Bulma Briefs today. As far as she was concerned, there was no loyalty of gender here. If the Brief's woman had been silly enough to lose her man she really didn't deserve to get him back. Not right away, at least. It was because of that Dorothy betrayed no knowledge of Vegeta's whereabouts with the poise of an actress who deserved an Oscar for her convincing performance. Bulma had actually had tears in her eyes from the false sincerity she had offered her. Stupid bitch.  
  
When Dorothy returned home she spent the afternoon staring at the address wondering what she was going to do and how she was going to go about it. In her devious mind she carefully evaluated every possible script and a prearranged counter like a chess master about to meet her greatest opponent. A flush of excitement lit her dark cheeks and she felt a responsive tingle between her tanned thighs. As she passed through the living room she looked at Vegeta's still form before going upstairs. "Prepare to be humbled, little man," she said under her breath.  
  
  
Vegeta was stuck in a nightmare where Radditz was taunting him over and over with his past failures and he was pitifully grateful when someone shook him awake. He woke up to a pair of deep brown eyes that were staring down at him in concern. "Are you all right?"  
  
He sat up slowly and it took a moment to collect his bearings as he concentrated on Dorothy's face. "Fine," he grumbled, running a hand absently through his stiff hair.  
  
Satisfied, the tall woman sat down in the opposite chair. She was wearing a low cut caftan that had an exotic tiger stripe pattern with a deep slit that revealed one smooth thigh. "It looked like you were having a terrible dream. What was it?"  
  
"None of your business."  
  
"Is there anything I can do?"  
  
"Keep your fridge better stocked," he said crisply.  
  
Nodding in apparent sympathy, she told him, "I sent my housekeeper out on some errands. She should be back soon." It was a partial lie. She had indeed sent her housekeeper out of the house...not to return until tomorrow.  
  
He didn't respond, becoming lost in thought and intentionally ignoring her. At length she revealed three little words that she knew would guarantee his full attention. "I've found her."  
  
Snapping his head up in surprise he betrayed a rare look of hope before he immediately reined it back. "Who?"  
  
"You know who I'm talking about. Bulma Briefs. I've found out where she's gone."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"Not so fast," Dorothy said, leaning forward to face him. "I had to make a lot of phone calls and utilize very expensive resources to track her down as quickly as I have. I spent a pretty penny on this address and I'm not just going to give it to you for free."  
  
His face immediately darkened in rising anger. "I told you that I lost my wallet."  
  
"Silly man, you know damn well that it's not your money I want," she said with a cruel smile, deliberately dropping her eyes to his crotch.  
  
Sputtering, he rose menacingly over her, his hands clenched into fists. At her gloating smile in return he whirled in frustration and stamped out of the room into the backyard. It was coming on dark and the pool lights were on transforming the landscaped grounds of the small yard into a deceptively comforting sanctuary. Vegeta walked around the pool until he came to the fence that bordered the end of the property, shielding it from outsiders. He crossed his arms and tried to grapple with his rage, wondering what he was possibly going to do. Sensing her presence coming up behind him he said in a low voice, "I resent you forcing me to lie with you in exchange for this information."  
  
"I'm not twisting your arm. You can leave if you want to, I won't stop you," she said quietly. "The question you have to ask yourself is, do you really want to? My informant tells me that Bulma has been looking for you. She's very worried."  
  
His lip curled. "I hate you."  
  
She only smiled mildly back. "What's the big deal, Vegeta? This is just a simple business transaction, nothing more or less. We both have something the other wants. You want Bulma, I want you. It's as simple as that."  
  
Turning on her, he shouted, "There's nothing 'simple' about this! It's utterly repugnant! How dare you make such a demand of me!"  
  
She shrugged, completely ignoring his protests. "What's it going to be?"  
  
He snorted spitefully as he glared at her. She was ignorant that her price would sacrifice far more than just precious physical resources. He had about a thimble full of anything resembling pride left to sustain him and now this amazon slut wanted to pimp him for a roll in the hay in exchange for an address. Things were just going steadily downhill...  
  
As his pensive silence stretched on Dorothy submerged her growing irritation and said in a harder voice, "I'm waiting for an answer."  
  
Struggling with his composure he was about to tell her to go to Hell and ask for a cadaver named Radditz when he sensed an unexpected ki rapidly approaching. Closing the distance between then in one quick move, he grabbed a handful of Dorothy's hair and pulled her face in close for a deep kiss. His other hand encircled her lithe form and she melted against him, moaning her gratitude into his mouth while he kept a sharp eye skywards.  
  
Passing by directly overhead was Tien, one of the most distrustful members of the Z Fighters where the Saiyan was concerned. The large fighter saw only a couple in the throes of passion and moved on without incident but Vegeta could sense his presence lingering in the affluent neighborhood. He pushed the woman away and wiped his mouth, staring in the direction the human had gone.  
  
Unaware of his true motives behind the sudden display of affection, Dorothy flashed him a triumphant smile. "Apparently that means you've chosen my offer."  
  
He could still feel that presence nearby, boxing him in. There was no telling how long Tien was going to remain in the area. If he continued to stall he had no doubt that the damned woman would make a scene that would attract the wrong attention. There was only one way out of this situation.   
  
"Apparently so," he confessed in a sigh.  
  
  
About an hour later Vegeta pulled on his jeans again and then sat on the edge of the bed to conserve his strength. Behind him, Dorothy was lounging back in the rumpled bed sheets, smoking a cigarette and appearing immensely self-satisfied. She stretched like a cat, almost purring in her contentment, and rubbed the Saiyan's back with her foot. "Well worth the wait, Vegeta. I wouldn't have missed this for the world."  
  
"I'm so happy for you," he grumbled, moving beyond her reach.  
  
She pouted. "Oh, you got your rocks off, what are you complaining about? Come and lay down with me."  
  
"That wasn't part of the deal," he said, staring at her sidelong. "Where is she?"  
  
Breathing out a lungful of soothing smoke she stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray on the nightstand. "Fine, be that way. I have it written down, I'll go get it for you." She rose reluctantly from the bed and didn't bother pulling on a robe over her nudity as she left the room.  
  
The instant she was gone Vegeta dropped the pretense of arrogance and squeezed his eyes shut as a spasm of tremors swept through him. He couldn't even blame it wholly on the V'Nhar either, swept up in a wave of self-loathing that eclipsed everything else. The last hour was a merciful blur of heaving flesh and moist heat. In the end, if he hadn't envisioned Bulma's sweet, angelic face his climax would have been an impossibility. The guilt that he felt was perplexing; he and the Briefs woman were not exclusive to one another and had exchanged no vows. All they had shared was one simple kiss. Nothing more.  
  
So why the hell did he feel so ashamed? It made no sense!  
  
"Here we are," Dorothy announced as she came padding back into the bedroom holding something up in her left hand. Vegeta got to his feet and made to grab for it and she deliberately held it out of his reach. "Not so fast. Once you leave there's no turning back. I'm not running a hotel. If things don't work out for you with that Briefs bitch, I don't want to see you back on my doorstep."  
  
"Consider that a bonus," he assured her. "Now hand it over."  
  
When she did he regarded the hundred-zeni bills that were wrapped around the wad of folded up paper. He held them up to her. "What the hell is this?"  
  
Dorothy lit a fresh cigarette and settled comfortably back on the bed, watching him in amusement. "Consider it a tip for a job well done," she said smugly.  
  
With a livid curse he threw the money down on the floor. "How DARE you treat me like some cheap slut! Do you have any idea who I AM?!"  
  
"All that matters is that you were my bitch the minute you agreed to screw me, boy," she told him in as hard a voice as he had ever heard her use. He actually recoiled from her harsh words as if physically slapped even as she taunted him with, "Tell me, Vegeta. How did it feel to be my little whore for an hour?"  
  
The muscles across his chest twitched in fury as he struggled for words so great was his rage. He raised a palm flat up to her face and then stared at it after one tense moment, feeling no mental connection indicative of a ki power up. He had used the last reserves of his strength to couple with her. Until he shrugged off the effects of the V'Nhar he was almost powerless.  
  
"Oh shit," he whispered, still staring at his hand in disbelief.  
  
Oblivious of how close her death had come, Dorothy pulled a sheet partially over herself and calmly told him, "I would suggest that you take the money. Surely you don't want to face your precious Bulma in those rags you've been wearing."  
  
He could only tremble where he stood, still sputtering with his hatred of her, unable to form coherent sentences.  
  
Drawing back on her cigarette thoughtfully, she laughed at his obvious distress. "No, you won't want to go to her looking like you've just crawled out of a ditch. Go buy yourself some nice clothes, get her some flowers while you're at it."  
  
Despite himself, he looked down at the scattered bills at his feet as he fitfully clenched and unclenched his hands.  
  
"You know you haven't got a penny to your name," Dorothy continued in that mocking taunting voice of hers. She was having a fine time. The chase was over, she had gotten what she wanted out of the arrangement and though she really didn't want to part with the little ramrod she was too spiteful to ever let his past insults slide. It was payback time and everybody knew that payback was a bitch. So was she. "You really worked that sweet little ass of yours for that money. You deserve a bonus just like any talented whore. It's yours free and clear."  
  
"...cunt...slut..." she heard him snarl under his breath.  
  
"Take it. Show Bulma that you still have a little dignity left before you start sponging off of her like you have been with me. She might not be as generous as I was."  
  
Swallowing at the mention of Bulma's name, he blinked at the malicious actress. Before he broke down entirely he snatched at the litter of bills and ran out of the bedroom, chased by her shrill, mocking laughter. He gathered his clothes and left the townhouse, not stopping until he was several houses away. In an alley that was cluttered with rank garbage he pulled on the rest of his clothes positive he could still hear her taunting mirth and it wasn't alone.   
  
Underneath of that sound he swore he could hear Radditz and Nappa joining in right along with her.   
  
  
Bulma stood out on the balcony admiring the lights of the Western Capital when the phone in the living room began to ring. She glanced towards it in confusion and looked at her watch. It was close to midnight and she was about to go to bed and surrender to her sorrow, hoping to catch more than just a few hours of sleep. She wanted to ignore the invasive sound but knew that the front desk screened her calls and wouldn't be disturbing her this late without just cause. Bracing herself for the worst, she picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?"  
  
There was silence on the other end. Listening to her heart speed up for no good reason, she tried again. "Hello? Who's there?"  
  
"...Bulma?"  
  
"Vegeta," she whispered. Her knees gave out on her and she fell backwards on the nearest chair. With the blood rushing in her ears, she could barely hear herself asking, "Vegeta, where are you?"  
  
That unnerving silence again. She swore she could hear the Saiyan breathing on the other end and somehow knew that he was about to hang up on her. "Tell me where you are. I'll come and get you!"  
  
Waiting in dread for that inevitable click that would end the one-sided conversation, his husky voice rasped into her ear, "...I'm...at a pay-phone near the park."  
  
There was something wrong with how he sounded but she didn't allow herself to dwell on it right now. "Look around. Do you see any street signs near you? Maybe a store? Can you tell me what it says?"  
  
She heard the clunk of the receiver being dropped and felt her dread intensify, imagining the Saiyan throwing it aside and stalking away in disgust at her inability to help, turning his back on her for good. Bulma had never felt so helpless in all of her life. "Vegeta?" She was straining her hearing for the slightest hint of footfalls or the sound of traffic. All she was rewarded with was that terrible stillness on his end, betraying no hint of his presence. Clutching the receiver in one white-knuckled fist, she squeezed out tears and was about to give up when his voice finally came back.  
  
Barely twenty minutes later, a cab pulled up along side of a phone booth and Bulma got out, looking around urgently. They were one street over from the park across from a bakery that was closed at the late hour. Underneath of a street lamp the road sign at the corner read Warner Street. It had started raining just as she left the Plaza. A low rumble of thunder in the distance solidified her dread. This was the place Vegeta had told her over the phone, there was no doubt but where was he?  
  
Cupping her hands around her mouth she called out, "Vegeta!"   
  
She heard a rustling in the large oak that was near the phone booth. Craning her head up she barely had time to move out of the way when he jumped to the ground.  
  
Releasing a relieved cry Bulma was about to tackle him in her inexpressible joy, her arms wide to embrace him as she rushed in. Recoiling from her approach he fell gracelessly backwards in a tangle of limbs and lay there, breathing heavily, visibly cringing from her. Bulma took a good look at him, one really good look and came no further and she knelt down. In as firm a voice as she could manage under the circumstances she extended her hand out to him and whispered, "Let me help you, Vegeta. Please."  
  
As his surroundings began to blur and darken, all that Vegeta could make out was the circle of her face and the light of the street lamp behind her that appeared like a faint halo. Dimly, he felt himself reaching one trembling hand outwards to be gently enfolded in her warm fingers.  
  
He rested his cheek on the wet concrete of the sidewalk and knew no more.  
  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------   
Chapter Eleven: Reunited at last! As Vegeta's system is consumed by the V'Nhar Bulma attempts to gain his trust as she looks after the helpless Saiyan. But will he let her? 


	12. Safe Haven

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Twelve - Safe Haven  
  
  
With the cab drivers help, Bulma managed to get the unconscious Saiyan into the backseat where she settled in beside him, cradling his head in her lap. He was burning up with fever and shivering in his wet clothes.  
  
The cab driver observed her distress from the front seat. "Capital City Hospital is only a couple of blocks away. Do you want me to take you there?"  
  
"Vegeta?" Bulma soothed the mussed hair away from his perspiring brow. "Vegeta, do you hear me?"  
  
He made one low moan of acknowledgement and resumed his helpless shaking. It hurt her beyond words to see him reduced to this sorry state while she had spent the last two weeks living it up in a rich suite. The pang of guilt she felt was unreasonable, she had been looking for him. It was apparent that she hadn't tried hard enough.  
  
"Miss?" the cabbie interjected. "The guy needs a doctor."  
  
Bulma remembered that the Hammorski kept a doctor on retainer to help keep those embarrassing little drug over-doses and out of control spousal arguments out of the local tabloids. The Plaza had a reputation of being utterly scandal-free but it wasn't because of the stability of its guest-list. "Take me back to the hotel."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Do it!" she snapped.  
  
Grumbling, the cab driver pulled away from the curb and drove swiftly back into the middle of the Capital. When they reached the front of the Plaza Bulma explained the situation to the doorman who immediately rushed inside to inform the night manager. Well aware of the status of the Briefs, the manager himself came out in the rain and helped her with the Saiyan's limp form, the both of them looping one of his arms around their necks and carrying him inside. Bulma was grateful for the late hour. Aside from a few porters and security guards, their passage to the elevator went largely unnoticed.  
  
"I must say, Miss Briefs. Quite the impressive company that you've elected to bring back," the manager quipped as they rode up to the fifty-eighth floor where her suite lied.  
  
"He may not look like it right now but this man is a prince. If he were awake he'd kick your ass for the tone you're using," Bulma told him in a cold voice.  
  
Visibly paling, the manager amended in a more humble tone, "I meant no offense. I was only attempting to lighten the mood-"  
  
"Can it. The last thing I want to hear is your ass-kissing. What's the word on the doctor?"  
  
"Fortunately, he's all ready in the building responding to another... crisis. My staff is paging him as we speak. He should arrive at your suite within the hour."  
  
Bulma absorbed the news with one curt nod and the man took the hint and kept his own mouth shut. When they arrived at her suite, the pair settled Vegeta into the bedroom and the manager wisely took his leave, not bothering to wait around for a tip.  
  
Alone together Bulma tried again to rouse the Saiyan to no avail. He was still shivering and she decided to get him out of his wet clothes and under some warm blankets. She removed his jacket first, examining the faded bloodstains and tears in the fabric with disbelief. The coat had been practically brand new before Vegeta had left Capsule Corp. and now looked ready for the garbage bin. From the looks of the rest of his tattered clothes it appeared as if he had been living in them for quite awhile. When she unbuttoned his shirt, she winced at how much weight he had lost in only two weeks. At the height of his training he had gained an impressive amount of muscle but now he was back to that lanky resilient form he'd had on Namek. She could see faint bruises on his face and on various spots on his body and couldn't submerge the thought that it looked as if he had been mugged. The way he had been seeking refuge in the tree as he had waited for her was the action of a man desperately trying to hide. It wasn't an observation that gave her any assurance.  
  
She pulled off his shoes and socks and, after a moment's deliberation, decided that the damp jeans had to go. At any other time Bulma probably would have looked forward to the act but the circumstances were too grim to play the voyeur. Getting him under the covers, she unbuttoned his jeans by touch alone, not surprised as her inquiring fingers connected with his bare hip and she pulled them off by the cuffs. Vegeta didn't bother himself with that boxer/briefs scenario and chose to go commando, an entertaining tidbit of information the Capsule Corp. nurse had gifted her with in the aftermath of the gravity simulator explosion. Bulma was actually wearing an odd smile on her face as she stared down at him before her roving thoughts (and eyes) were interrupted by a knock at the front door.  
  
When she opened it she found a middle-aged, disheveled, stubble-faced doctor who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else on earth than here. He nodded in greeting and immediately asked about the ailing patient, not in the mood for any small talk. Bulma led him into the bedroom and sat nervously on the far side of the bed watching as the man began his examination.  
  
She knew she was going to be in for a rough time of it when the doctor pulled out the blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around the Saiyan's upper right arm and promptly exclaimed, "Holy SHIT!" when he looked at the read-out.  
  
Straight-faced, Bulma calmly asked, "What's it say?"  
  
"230 over 120! That can't be right!"  
  
"Actually, that's low for him," she remarked and at the doctor's incredulous expression she added, "Trust me, it gets weirder."   
  
Vegeta's temperature was 116 degrees F and his heart rate was a mere twenty-nine beats a minute in his rested state. Bulma knew from check-ups after the gravity simulator incident that his normal temperature hovered around 112 degrees so it proved that something was wrong. They just had to figure out what.  
  
Stepping back, the doctor fixed her with a helpless glance. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for. By all rights this man should be dead with symptoms like these. He needs to be admitted in a hospital immediately."  
  
"I'm telling you that everything except the temperature is normal for him. He collapsed earlier, I want to find out why."  
  
Exasperated, the other man asked, "Do you at least have a theory I can start with?"  
  
"He has a history of neglecting himself when he's pre-occupied. I've seen him go six days without food or water and this time he went missing for two weeks. I think he was in a fight. Work with that," she instructed.  
  
It was clear from her manner that he wasn't going to get out of this suite until he gave her some manner of assurance on her strange companion and, truth be told, the physician's interest was piqued. He rummaged in his bag and then lifted Vegeta's left eyelid and shone his flashlight in a brief pass before moving onto the next. "Normal retinal reaction, that's good. There doesn't appear to be any concussion." He opened the Saiyan's mouth and shone the light inside. After a pause he remarked, "Your friend must have been involved in some manner of confrontation. One molar was knocked out. Fairly recent by the look."  
  
Alarm lit Bulma's features. "Really?"  
  
"I wouldn't worry, it appears to be growing back," he said, casting her one enigmatic look before resuming his inspection. With careful fingers he felt his way along the Saiyan's midriff and when he pushed against the stomach he was rewarded by a noticeable flinch. Gingerly, he pressed around the site until Vegeta stirred under his touch, his features contorted in discomfort. A new look dawned on the middle-aged man's face that finally replaced his perpetual expression of displeasure.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Bulma felt prompted to ask.  
  
"The diagnosis is difficult with your friends...unique physiology," he said, pulling down one of Vegeta's lower eyelids and seeing the sickly yellow of the bottom half of the cornea. "The neuropathy is similar to malnutrition and a vitamin deficiency. Has there been any cramping or delusions?"  
  
"I-I don't know."  
  
"You said that he collapsed earlier."  
  
"His legs gave out on him when he tried to move away-"  
  
The doctor was nodding. "Muscle weakness in the lower extremities is common to a severe B-complex deficiency. His tongue is off-color and the corneal jaundice is indicative of anemia. I can't be certain without some blood work-"  
  
"I'll take your word for it, doctor," Bulma assured him. "Is this serious?"  
  
"If left unchecked he could die just from thiamine deficiency alone. I'm amazed with that blood pressure reading he hasn't suffered an ischemic stroke!"  
  
"He's pretty tough," was all she could say on the matter.  
  
He uttered a noncommittal grunt as he pulled out a prescription pad and began to scrawl on it. "I'm recommending parenteral B-complex supplements and thiamine capsules. I'm also adding an antihypertensive prescription for nitroglycerin tablets, more for my own peace of mind than yours. Despite all of this he appears in excellent physical shape so my advice would be to get him out of bed and have him walk around as soon as he's able."  
  
"I don't think that's going to be a problem," she told him honestly, accepting the prescription paper from him and glancing at it. There were five different medications written on it in the man's illegible script.  
  
Packing up his few belongings, the older physician instructed her, "You can give him aspirin for the fever and liquids but what he needs most is adequate nutrition. Start him off with broths, as much as he can tolerate and as he gets stronger, adjust the menu accordingly. If you don't see any improvement in four or five days have the front desk page me."  
  
"Thank you, doctor." Bulma was picking up her purse but he shook his head at what she was about to offer and actually betrayed a thin-lipped smile as she opened the door for him.  
  
"This was a far cry from treating some over-the-hill actors' suicide attempt or someone's drug overdose. Miss, you and your companion there have made my night," he told her and left the suite in suitably better spirits then when he arrived.  
  
  
By the next evening Vegeta was still in a deep, unresponsive sleep and Bulma's worry intensified. She had room service send up a bowl of chicken soup and a couple of roast beef sandwiches and carried them on a tray and set them on the nightstand beside the bed. She was going to get the Saiyan to eat even if she had to force feed him to do it, the irony of that particular scenario was not lost on her but she was too worried to dwell on it. Leaving the room for one fortifying cigarette out on the balcony, she took a couple of deep breaths and returned to the bedroom.  
  
She found the Saiyan sitting up and drinking the last of the hot soup straight from the bowl. The sandwiches were long gone. "Vegeta?" she asked, the first smile in days easing the lines that had only recently cut themselves into her face.  
  
Slurping down the last of the contents, he held the bowl out to her. "More," he demanded.  
  
Four more bowls and seven sandwiches later he appeared to finally be snapping out of his desperate hunger and actually taking the time to chew his eighth sandwich as he looked around the bedroom. His eyes fell on Bulma who was sitting beside him on the bed. "Where am I?" he asked gruffly.  
  
"You're in my hotel suite at the Hammorski Plaza."  
  
"Why aren't you back home?"  
  
Pursing her lips at the mention of Capsule Corp. she said, "I still haven't talked to dad over the way he treated you."  
  
"That was..." He tried counting backwards through all of the blank periods in his recent memory.  
  
"Fourteen days ago," she told him.  
  
"And you're still pissed?"  
  
Crossing her arms, she awarded him with her profile. "You aren't the only person who can hold a grudge, y'know."  
  
Looking at her in surprise he finally released a snort of amusement and she flashed him one of her brilliant smiles in return. He was astonished to realize how much he had missed her and that realization was completely unexpected. He was about to say something when a lance of pain galvanized him and he curled into a contorted ball as his stomach rebelled to his large meal. Struggling to keep those precious calories down he actually grayed out for a few moments. When he slowly pulled out of the debilitating spell he was aware of Bulma pressed up beside him, running a gentle hand through his hair as if he was an ailing pet.  
  
"What's wrong with you, Vegeta?" she dared to ask.  
  
Wiping the sweat out of his eyes with a shaking hand, he rasped out, "V'Nhar."  
  
"...Vehnear?"  
  
He scowled at her mutilation of such a simple two-syllable word. "It translates to mean; the Hunger. A Saiyan's system can turn in on itself when he fails to eat enough to sustain it. The ki becomes consumed instead."   
  
"Does that mean you're powerless?"  
  
He rewarded her question with one of his distrustful glares and she had to sigh at the mere sight of it. "Okay, it's none of my business. I can take a hint. Honestly, Vegeta! I thought you were finally starting to trust me on that day in the drafting department."  
  
"A lot has happened in a short time," he said in a low voice.  
  
Nodding in agreement, she placed a hand on his forehead as she asked, "Why did you let yourself get so run down?"  
  
He quickly pulled away from her touch. "I was busy."  
  
"Hm. One track mind as always," she said without surprise. She rose and began collecting the dishes off of the bed and nightstand. "You still have a fever, so don't nod off on me. I have some pills I want you to take."  
  
That dour expression was back on his face. "What kind of pills?"  
  
"Aspirin, vitamin supplements and the like. I had a doctor take a look at you last night. He said you were malnourished, if you can believe that."  
  
Vegeta made no comment. "Who else knows I'm here?"  
  
She had been in the process of leaving the room and now backed up several steps. "I haven't talked to anybody yet. Why?"  
  
"Keep a lid on it."  
  
"Why?" Alarm lit her face. "What did you do, Vegeta?!"  
  
"Don't yell at me. I didn't do anything wrong. That old prick father of yours recruited your loser friends to hunt me down. I had to spend a day sleeping in the bushes like a bum so they wouldn't find me. Shit, if it hadn't been for that three-eyed freak I wouldn't have had to-to-" He realized he had almost told her what had happened with Dorothy Pereaux and shut his mouth as he reined in his temper. "I don't want you to tell anyone I'm here," he finished.  
  
Bulma was openly gaping at him. "My dad wouldn't...he-he would never-"  
  
"-Fire my ass? Forbid me to see you? I mean it, woman. Keep quiet on this or I'll leave right now."  
  
Her mouth worked but no sound came out. There was no lie that she could see in the ebon depths of his eyes and she certainly couldn't ignore the sorry state he was in. Remembering back how he had been hiding in the tree as he waited for her, she knew that whatever the real reason behind her father's actions, he believed it to be true. "You have my word, Vegeta. I won't tell a soul."  
  
He stared at her for a long moment and then dropped his eyes and offered her a nod, visibly relaxing. She went into the living room and replaced the dishes on the cart and wheeled it outside of the suite for the porter to retrieve later, hardly aware of what she was doing. Could her father have done what he told her? Was he still that angry? she thought worriedly. If it wasn't such a late hour she would call her mother right now and try and get some insight into what was happening. She debated doing it anyway when Vegeta came sauntering into the living room and that got her mind back on track.  
  
"I can see I'm going to have to invest in some duct tape to see that you stay in bed," she said crossly.  
  
Ignoring her, he resumed his inspection of the plush surroundings and stopped when he reached the closed doors of the balcony. "I didn't know we were this high up," he commented, intrigued by the view. The Capital was far more appealing from this vantagepoint then from an alley. Heights were always a comfort to him; it allowed some distance for rumination and offered the isolation that he required to recover.  
  
He looked over at Bulma who was opening various pill bottles and carefully reading their labels. This was the third time that she had come to his aid now in his pathetically short time on Earth. This time she had left her home and alienated her family and apparently had done it just for him.  
  
Why?  
  
"Here, take these," she said, offering him a handful of pills and a glass of water. She was expecting a prolonged debate or even a sarcastic response about archaic human medicines. Instead he took them from her and swallowed them without argument and went back to looking at the view.  
  
Flattered by the gesture of trust, she stood beside him and, after a period of meditative quiet, remarked, "It's really a pretty sight, isn't it?"  
  
His lips twitched. "I keep expecting to see explosions or bon-fires. This peacefulness is...unnerving. I'm supposed to destroy cities, not live in one."  
  
"That part of your life is over, Vegeta. You're living on Earth now," she told him as gently as she could.  
  
He dropped his eyes to the floor and said nothing. In the back of his mind he could hear Radditz growling, 'You're a failure in everything you've ever done. The reason you're at the mercy of this mudball is because you were too weak to conquer it.'  
  
Sensing his indecision she attempted to make him feel better with; "It's going to take some time to learn to adjust to living here with all of its strange customs and ideals. I'm here for you and I'm not going anywhere. We can make this work together."  
  
"Why do you even give a damn?" he asked bluntly. "You used to hate me like all of the others. What changed?"  
  
Without hesitation, she answered, "You did."  
  
"Me?"  
  
Nodding, she betrayed a small smile as she explained it further. "You're not the same megalomaniac who tried to destroy the earth. You aren't that mean-spirited shit who tried to get the Dragonballs on Namek either-" A muscle jumped in his jaw at the mention of those magical orbs but she didn't notice. "All of those malicious traits died when you did. I believe in second chances and new beginnings and that's what you've been given. Don't you see that?"  
  
Anger began to replace the doubt and confusion on his face. He turned away from her and began to restlessly pace the room. "This is supposed to be an improvement to my life? I've gone from one scenario where everyone feared me to the exact opposite where I'm now on the run!"  
  
"This is just a temporary thing-"  
  
"The last person who tried to reassure me with that bullshit was my father when he handed me over to Frieza. And THAT ended up lasting the next twenty years!"  
  
"I'm not your father," Bulma insisted. "I'm not going to turn my back on you."  
  
"Sure you will," he sneered back. "Because I'll end up either driving you away or killing you. That's how this game is played. That's how it's always been."  
  
Visibly controlling her temper she considered his words thoughtfully, reading between the lines and sensing his hurt and betrayal over past actions that had left him wary and spiteful of any benevolent offer. "Trying to shake twenty years of distrusting everyone isn't going to happen over night. I realize that. Despite your threats I intend to stick around."  
  
He was studying her very carefully. "You're offering me food, medicine and shelter. What's in it for you? I've learned the hard way that nobody does anything without a price tag attached."  
  
Caught off guard, Bulma wasn't sure of what kind of answer he was fishing for. "I-I just want to see you get healthy again-"  
  
"Bah! All of you human's have ulterior motives," he spat at her. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the rumpled bills, throwing them on the coffee table. "This is all I've got. Somehow, someway, I'll repay you back for what you're doing."  
  
Struggling with indignant tears, she said in a wounded voice. "I don't want your money!"  
  
For no good reason she could fathom, he shot back with; "I don't want it either. Believe me."  
  
He stamped back into the bedroom and found the adjoining bathroom and went inside, shutting the door. Leaning over the sink he splashed cold water on his flushed face and suddenly doubled over as another cramp seized him, bringing him to his knees. He managed to move over to the edge of the bathtub and sat there until the spell passed. The pain was brutal reminder that he couldn't pull one of his infamous disappearing acts and expect to survive it this time. Like it or not, he was stuck here. With her. It was disgusting just how truly vulnerable he had become without Nappa nagging after him like an old nursemaid. Once he had gotten out on his own he just hadn't seemed able to do anything right.  
  
Radditz was back, whispering in his left ear. 'You murdered your own bodyguard when he was too injured to defend himself. Now you're alone and it's all your fault!'  
  
"Fuck off," he told the empty room but the voice kept plaguing him, eroding his self-confidence. He left the room to concentrate solely on going back to sleep and found Bulma waiting outside of the door with an excited expression on her face.  
  
"What?" he grumbled.  
  
"She found you!" Bulma was holding up the piece of paper that he had discarded with the money. "Why didn't you tell me that she found you?"  
  
He gave an irritated shake of his head. "Woman, what ARE you babbling about?"  
  
"This!" She unfolded the crumpled paper with her address on it, practically shoving it into his face. "I gave this to Dorothy Pereaux yesterday-"  
  
"You-You-" he choked.  
  
"-She told me not to get my hopes up high and yet she must have found you soon after. I don't believe the luck! I mean, what are the odds that- Vegeta? What's wrong? Vegeta!"  
  
Struggling to breathe, the Saiyan dropped to the floor and gripped the carpet with spasming fingers. His lungs felt closed off and uncooperative, as if he were drowning and he convulsed just as Bulma started screaming in his ear.  
  
Huh. For once her ear-shattering pitch of voice didn't hurt...  
  
  
...Wake up, Chibi no Ouji, that gruff voice wheezed in his ear.  
  
Vegeta snapped awake with a gasp and thrashed against the darkness that enveloped him on all sides. He had died this time, he was certain of it but he was damned if he was going to surrender to his fate without a fight.  
  
There were garments around him (not chains?) and he tore them apart in his haste to be free. Falling to the soft floor (not hot coals?) he continued his frenzied struggles until a light came on revealing a richly furnished bedroom in calming burgundy hues (where are the bloodstains?). A woman's voice was calling his name over and over (where were the screams of agony?) and it finally dawned on him that he wasn't in Hell after all.  
  
"Where-" he forced a ragged breath into his lungs. "-am I?"  
  
A woman appeared beside him and he scrambled away until his back was up against the wall. He immediately raised his right hand with the palm up in an instinctive gesture that was second nature to him. The woman pounced on him and forced his arm down before he could summon up the ragged remains of his ki for a blast. "Damn it, Vegeta!" she was yelling into his face. "It's me! Bulma! BUL-MA!"  
  
The face came into better focus and became recognizable. As realization dawned he could only blink at her in puzzlement. Finally, it all came back in a rush; the V'Nhar, no money, being on the run, the Pereaux woman-  
  
"oh shit," he rasped, taking his face in hands. Bulma was trying to pull him up to the bed and he pushed her away. "Leave me alone."  
  
"This has something to do with Dorothy Pereaux, doesn't it? Did she say something to you? Was it something she did-" Bulma felt her body go cold as her intuition began whispering its own suspicions. He had gone into a seizure at the mere mention of the actress and she was relatively certain that insults weren't part of the problem. In as level a voice as she could manage, she asked, "Vegeta, what did Dorothy Pereaux do to you?"  
  
Shaking his head he tried to get away from her but his back was up against the wall, both literally and figuratively. There was no way out of this situation but the one way that she was asking.  
  
"Please, Vegeta," she whispered.  
  
He couldn't even look in her direction so great was his shame. Grabbing one of the discarded blankets he pulled it around himself to ward off the chill that seemed to gnaw at his very bones. "She told me that getting her address cost her a lot of money. I'd lost my wallet. There was only one way she would let me..." He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. "...pay for it." He braced himself for the explosion to follow the terrible admittance. As that disquieting silence stretched on he dared himself to look up at her and felt no relief when he caught sight of the tears in her beautiful blue eyes. "Bulma...I-"  
  
"You...did that to get my address?" she managed to get out.  
  
"There was no enjoyment in the act for me," he told her roughly. "My motivations were not the same as that cheating ex-lover of yours. So don't you start comparing me to that-"  
  
She rushed into his arms and held him in a suffocating embrace as she laid her face against his shoulder and sobbed. Vegeta kept his arms limp beside him, not know what was an appropriate response for what she was doing or even why she was doing it. With his usual methodical manner of tearing all miniscule things to pieces he could only reach one conclusion for her odd behavior: I disappointed her. Just as he was about to launch into one of his tirades about how he wasn't her property she pulled away from him and laid her hands on either side of his face. She was actually smiling.  
  
"I can't believe you did that for me."  
  
He was opening his mouth to ask her what she was talking about when she kissed him. Just as quickly as he felt her lips they were gone and she was hauling him back up to the bed. "You're practically burning up! You have to get back in bed right now. I'll go get some aspirin. I wonder when the pharmacy opens, maybe they have a toll-free number-" she exited the room in a flurry of anxiety leaving Vegeta staring after her in complete bewilderment.  
  
"What the hell just happened?" he asked the empty room.  
  
  
Less than an hour later, Bulma managed to get the Saiyan settled and he fell back into a fitful sleep. She was sitting up beside him running her hand gently along his stiff hair in a soothing caress. She really didn't understand why Frieza and other enemies of the Saiyan's called the race space monkeys. They were more like big cats to her; aloof, dangerous, unfathomable. Their forms were deliberately agile, containing that quiet ferocity that could erupt at any moment. This lone prince was the embodiment of all of those qualities. Even his soft snoring came out sounding more like a purr.  
  
He made that odd sound now as he shifted position and moved in closer to her. The look of worry on her face eased a bit at the innocuous sound. The expression returned when she looked at the rumpled address in her left hand.  
  
She had willingly given this information to the Pereaux woman who had been vindictive enough to use it to force Vegeta to sleep with her. Bulma knew she was as much to blame here as anyone, having given the woman the ammunition she needed to take advantage of someone unfamiliar of the customs of this world and too sick and desperate to pursue any other course of action. She could not fault him for doing it and realized that he had actually forfeited his pride in the act just to be reunited with her. That gesture alone spoke volumes to Bulma. She knew she would never hold it against him.  
  
However, there was still a score to settle.  
  
  
Early the next morning the doorbell rang at an affluent townhouse in the Western Capital's wealthy north quarter. Upstairs, Dorothy was standing nude on the bathroom scale staring that the read-out with an expression of complete horror. "How the hell did I gain two pounds? What the f-?" The doorbell rang again and she yelled after her housekeeper, "Carmilla! Would you do your damn job for once and answer the bloody door?!"  
  
There was no answering yell back and the actress resolved to fire her lazy ass the next time the immigrant came out of whatever hidey-hole she had crawled into. Pulling on her robe and tying it around her waist, Dorothy was still cursing the scale as she went downstairs where the doorbell had been abandoned in favor of a steady pounding.  
  
"Water retention," she muttered to herself. "That's what it is. An hour in the sauna should fix things right up."  
  
She undid the locks to the door, too preoccupied to check the peephole first. When she opened it she was unprepared for the fist that connected squarely with her face.  
  
Stumbling backwards, Dorothy held her mouth and ran into the backrest of a chair, holding onto it for support. Calmly entering the house and closing the door, Bulma advanced on her with a look of barely contained rage on her face. "How's it feel to be hurt when your guard is down?" she hissed menacingly.  
  
"You BITCH!" Dorothy shrieked. She touched her bottom lip and when she saw the blood on her fingertips her eyes practically bulged out in shock. "I'm going to sue your ass off for this!"  
  
"Fine. You go get your little lawyer and I'll sic the entire Capsule Corp. legal department on you. By the time they're done with you the only thing you'll be starring in will be dogfood commercials."  
  
Dorothy swallowed. When it came to real wealth or power she was a mere pauper against the other woman and she at least had the intelligence to know it. "What do you want?"  
  
"Why did you lie to me?" Bulma shot back.  
  
Even under these tense circumstances, the tall actress was unable to suppress her triumphant grin of accomplishment. "So, the little man went crawling to you after all. I'll be damned," she actually shook her head and laughed. "Tell me, did he use the money I paid him and buy you a gift like I told him to?"  
  
Deliberately ignoring her, Bulma asked, "How could you take advantage of him like that? He was down on his luck and sick as a dog-"  
  
"He was sick? Damn." Bulma actually thought the woman was remorseful until Dorothy added smugly, "If he was capable of that extra-ordinary performance while he was sick I guess I should have kept him around awhile longer."  
  
"You SLUT!" Bulma launched herself at the taller woman and the pair went tumbling over the furniture and landed in a writhing ball in the middle of the floor. Clumps of hair, both blue and black, drifted across ceramic tile like miniature tumbleweeds, followed by Dorothy's robe. Spitting and hissing like a pair of cats, the irate women tousled against one another with fingernails bared. They didn't come to their senses until the housekeeper was back from finishing her joint in the backyard and began hitting Bulma with the broom.  
  
"Get her out of here!" Dorothy yelled at Carmilla, hastily retrieving her robe. She had a couple of scratches from Bulma's nails but, thankfully, nowhere near her precious face. "You'll get the bill from my plastic surgeon, you blue-haired whore!"  
  
"Who's the whore here? You tricked a man into screwing you because you knew he'd never touch you any other way!" Bulma had to hold the front of her blouse closed with one hand, having lost most of the buttons in the brawl. Her left eye was watering and starting to close up. "It must make you feel really superior to know he only did that so he could be with ME," she finished. This time she was the only one of the two who was smiling.  
  
Dorothy fell into a sullen silence at what she said and looked away in disgust...and something more.  
  
The housekeeper gave Bulma an urgent tug on her sleeve and she allowed herself to be escorted to the door without argument. As she was walking down the steps she was halted by; "Bulma."  
  
Turning expectantly, she saw the disheveled actress standing in the doorway looking a far cry from her usual immaculate public appearance. "What do you want?" she asked warily.  
  
Dorothy appeared to consider the young heiress for a moment before she spoke. "If it's any consolation...it was your name I heard him whisper at the end. Not mine."  
  
Bulma was still staring at the door long after the other woman had slammed it shut.  
  
  
  
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Chapter Thirteen: Prepare to pucker up! Here's that 'Lemon' some of you have been begging for! Of course, if you know me at all by now, do you HONESTLY think that everything is going to go smoothly between Bulma and Vegeta? HAH! 


	13. Unexpected Visitors

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Thirteen - Unexpected Visitors  
  
  
Vegeta never did find out what Bulma had done behind his back. She resolved never to tell him, aware that the blow to his damaged pride would be irreparable if he knew that a woman had fought one of his battles in his place. There was a great degree of satisfaction that she felt from the confrontation with Dorothy Pereaux, not even minding the swollen eye as she was left smiling down at Vegeta as he slept, blissfully unaware that she had even left.  
  
It was your name he whispered at the end. Not mine, Dorothy had told her. She would not have fabricated such an embarrassing statement although why she had shared it at all was a mystery to Bulma. Maybe, just maybe, the temptress had felt a glimmer of shame for her manipulations after all.  
  
Lingering in the doorway, Bulma resolved that she was going to make a relationship with Vegeta work and Kami help anyone who dared get in her way. "I'm not going to give up on you," she whispered with all of her heart and left the room to prepare a bag of ice for her aching face.  
  
  
After a breakfast involving an entire box of cereal, two liters of milk, five oranges and a large plate of scrambled eggs, Vegeta returned to bed with scarcely a word to Bulma, not even noticing that she had worn sunglasses during the entire meal. She had expected him to sniff out her deception and extract the story from her with that frightening insight that was almost telepathy. If anything he had downplayed the severity of the V'Nhar to her as he forced himself to function by an act of sheer will alone, more asleep than awake. He wouldn't have noticed if she had been in a body cast and for once, the younger woman was grateful for his ignorance.  
  
She left the hotel by mid-afternoon, leaving a note on the nightstand that she had gone shopping in case the Saiyan woke up. At a nearby mall inside of a private booth, Bulma talked to her mother over the videophone. She would have liked to visit her personally but wanted to avoid any messy confrontations with her father just in case what Vegeta had told her was actually true. After a few minutes of idle chitchat Bulma finally attempted, "Mom, do you know anything about dad having Gokou and the others looking for Vegeta?"  
  
The blond gave that vacuous expression she was famous for and shook her head. "I've been tending to my roses like a woman possessed. There's a judge who is going to be coming by and evaluate my prize-winning Velvet Blue that I've been cultivating just for this-"  
  
"That's wonderful news. I hope you win. Listen mom, how has dad been acting lately? Has the subject of Vegeta ever come up?"  
  
"Oh! He's still very upset, Bulma. The lab is still having a terrible time adjusting to your leaving and poor Charles McNeal has gone on stress leave. You father is nearly at his wit's end!"   
  
"So you don't know a thing," Bulma said more to herself.  
  
Reluctantly the blond shook her head. "I'm sorry, dear. Your father and I have both been very busy. I wish you would come back home, this huge building is just sooo empty without you. And..." She looked over her shoulder and then dropped her voice to a whisper as she confessed, "I'm worried about Vegeta, too. He needs someone to look after him."  
  
Seeing the tears welling up in her mother's eyes, Bulma realized that she could never lie to her. "Mom, Vegeta's all right. He's with me."   
  
Ms. Briefs clapped her hands together excitedly. "That's wonderful-"  
  
"Don't you tell anyone about this!" Bulma told her before the woman began singing the news to anybody within earshot. "Don't mention it to dad or to anybody else. This is our secret, okay?"  
  
The blond visibly faltered. "Bulma, I really don't like sneaking around behind your father's back-"  
  
"Mother, please. I've only just found Vegeta two days ago. I'd like a chance for us to get used to one another again before one more conflict drives him away. If I lost him now I don't think I'd have the chance to get him back. He-he's in bad shape, mom. Another fight with dad might break him. Or-or worse..."  
  
Mrs. Briefs genuinely cared for Vegeta despite all of the damaging information that Yamcha had felt compelled to impart her and her husband with. She remembered an aloof, quiet alien who chose to stay in the background and not provoke anyone so he could focus primarily on his training. There had been no hint of the maliciousness that Yamcha had suggested and he had never been vindictive or abusive to her in anyway. She felt acute remorse at her failure to intervene during that scene in the living room when her husband had confronted him and shared the guilt that she had not done anything to make him stay. With the news that her daughter had confided to her, the blond resolved that she would not be responsible for any more tension between the troubled pair. "Call me soon. I'll tell you if there's any news."  
  
Bulma wished she could hug her mother as she grappled with her tears. "Thank you, mom. I love you."  
  
"I love you too, dear. Give my best to Vegeta," she said sincerely.  
  
Smiling through her tears, Bulma whispered, "I will."  
  
  
Late that night Vegeta woke up and saw that the room was still lit. Squinting in annoyance, he rolled onto his back and saw that Bulma had fallen asleep while reading. She was sitting with her back up against the headboard still wearing her day casuals. So far that was all the Saiyan had ever seen her wear. Her chin was resting on her chest and a thin ribbon of drool was hanging from her bottom lip.  
  
The Saiyan absorbed the sight without surprise. What a slob, he thought with the mental equivalent of a sigh. He propped himself up on one elbow and reached over and poked her arm. "Woman. Wake up."  
  
Her head jerked up in surprise and she looked around and saw Vegeta staring up at her with that scowl on his face. Self-consciously she wiped her mouth and looked down at herself to see a distinct circle of moisture on her sweater. Oh dear Kami, please tell me I'm still dreaming, she thought.  
  
"Why don't you go lay down?" he asked her peevishly.  
  
Her flush of embarrassment was replaced by one of anger. "In case you haven't noticed, Sherlock, this is a one bedroom suite. If you think I'm going to sleep on the couch you have another think coming-"  
  
He let her drone on for a few minutes longer, privately wishing he had just left her the hell alone. When there was finally a lull in her protestation he calmly asked, "Are you quite through?"  
  
Her eyes blazed and she was about to begin another tirade he interrupted her with; "I know this is the only bed. I only meant that you should actually sleep in it instead of on top of it."  
  
"...With you?" came the surprised retort. She gave one stunned blink, looking very much like her simple-minded mother at that moment.  
  
For a technical genius the woman could be frustratingly thick at times. Vegeta visibly grappled with his temper and managed to get out a simple, "Yes."  
  
"But you-you're-"  
  
"Naked. Very good." He examined her shrewdly, a ghost of a smile tugging at the left-hand side of his mouth. "Somehow, I didn't figure you to be such a prude. Are you still a virgin, too?"   
  
"Of course not!" She realized that forceful answer didn't come out quite as she intended. "Well, Yamcha was the only man I've ever been with-"  
  
He grunted. "Then you might as well be one. I only made the suggestion because watching you drool into your bra was disgusting. And that damned light was keeping me awake."  
  
"...No other reason?"  
  
At her visible nervousness a mischievous glint appeared in his black eyes. "Now who's the distrustful one? Woman, I don't bite," he suddenly gave a wolfish grin, exposing teeth that appeared sharper then they had any right to be. "Unless you want me too..."  
  
Bulma realized with relief that the Saiyan was just playing with her and meant no harm, this sick sense of humor seemed to be his way of flirting. She actually betrayed a chuckle. "Fine," she said, walking over to the dresser and rummaging through the shopping bags that were piled on top of it. She pulled an article of clothing out of one and casually threw it at him, "But you're wearing these."  
  
Vegeta unfolded it and saw it was a pair of exercise shorts. He wadded it into a ball and threw it right back. "Not a chance. Those aren't for sleeping."  
  
"I know how you like to sleep. But I'm not lying under the covers with only a millimeter thick nightie separating me from your little Saiyan." She walked over to the bed and held up the shorts in front of him.  
  
He was starting to get angry now. "One, it's NOT little and two, nobody said that you had to wear any garment-"  
  
"-Nice try. Put it on or I go back to drooling."  
  
Grumbling, he snatched the shorts and pulled them on underneath on the blankets and Bulma retrieved her nightgown and went into the bathroom to begin the ritual of cleaning up before going to bed. Casting the closed door a perturbed glance he looked at the shopping bags with loathing. It was apparent that the bags were full of clothing that she had bought for him to replace what he had lost. She knew his measurements from a daylong shopping spree shortly after he had arrived at Capsule Corp.; Shit, there was six hours of his life he wouldn't mind getting back. If it wasn't having the cuffs of his pants hemmed up because they were too damn long, it was having to find some clothes in the mall's children section. Was there anything about this planet that wasn't intended to be personally humiliating?  
  
To have to be indebted to anyone, let alone this woman was demoralizing for him. He couldn't help but draw comparisons of the situation with his previous encounter with the Pereaux bitch. Bulma had appeared offended when he had forced the money on her the day before. She didn't seem to want anything in return and he was puzzled by that selflessness.  
  
What if she is like the other woman and attempts to seduce me in exchange for my staying here? he mused to himself.  
  
The bathroom door opened and Bulma stepped out wearing a simple pink nightgown that came down to just above her knees. He could plainly make out the strutted nubs of her nipples beneath the fabric.  
  
I don't think I'd put up much of a fuss, he amended.  
  
  
Nothing happened that night. Each of them stuck to their side of the bed and had no problems sharing the blankets. Bulma actually found that she liked being lulled to sleep by his soft, purr-like snoring and there was a comforted smile on her relaxed features when she drifted off. Initially dreading the close contact, Vegeta actually began to anticipate it. When he woke up in the middle of the night his senses automatically reached out and homed in on the close presence of her and he relaxed, breathing in her distinctly feminine scent and allowing it to soothe him back to sleep.  
  
That morning Bulma became aware that she had slept in later than usual, the sunlight from behind the curtained windows was brighter than usual. She was also aware that she was pressed up against the Saiyan's back, her left arm encircling his waist, the other resting against his neck. He still had a slight fever and was the human equivalent of a heating pad. She must have gotten cold during the night and had sought out the nearest source of heat in her sleep.  
  
She was frozen in place and unconsciously held her breath as she wondered how she was possibly going to disengage herself without disturbing him. Almost as if he had caught that stray thought, Vegeta eyes flew open.  
  
Bulma pulled herself away in a rush and the Saiyan immediately sat up and glared straight at her. The two sat together on the bed barely two feet apart and regarded one another warily for a moment before she tried to stammer out, "I-I didn't mean to-to-"  
  
"I've got first dibs on the bathroom," was all he had to say on the matter.  
  
Bulma was to dumbstruck to protest as he got up out of the bed and crossed the room closing the door after himself. When the paralysis wore off she reached for the phone and called room service, still trying to interpret what had just occurred. For no reason at all she felt that there was just cause to celebrate and ordered a breakfast to reflect that.  
  
The odd pair ate outside on the balcony as the city below and around them moved on at its irrevocable, frenzied pace. For a time there was companionable silence between them. Trying to hold a conversation with a hungry Saiyan was a near impossibility and Bulma nursed her coffee as she watched Vegeta with veiled amusement. There were three plates in front of him consisting of a generous pile of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages and an assortment of danishes, donuts and muffins. He was working through the desserts now with grim determination. Like all Saiyan's, Vegeta had one hell of a sweet tooth and relished a good sugar rush when it hit. When he finally started showing signs of slowing down, Bulma knew he would be more receptive to conversation.  
  
Refilling her mug, she attempted, "Vegeta, where did you go when you left Capsule Corp.?"  
  
Vegeta was in the process of eyeing the last surviving donut on his plate. "That first day I just went into the woods outside of the Capital. I returned that evening."  
  
"You came back to find me?"  
  
Squaring his shoulders, he avoided her gaze as he said, "I forgot my coat."  
  
Bulma knew full well that he had packed all of his belongings. Hiding her smile as she took a sip out of her mug she realized that this entire mess could have been avoided if she hadn't stormed out a quickly as she had. That smile faded. "Where did you go after that?"  
  
He shrugged. "Around."  
  
She waited for a further explanation and realized she wasn't going to get one and had to submerge her growing irritation. He would never be voluntarily talkative, she reasoned. Her friendship with Gokou and the other Z Fighters, all extroverts with a terrific sense of humor had spoiled her. Vegeta's moody lapses were not something she was used to dealing with but she wasn't going to fault him for it. Compared to his past travelling companions, Nappa and Radditz, she had to consider him tame, even rational by comparison.  
  
She watched him push away the plate with the lonely donut and get to his feet to lean over the railing and absorb the view. His profile was harsh and pensive, she could almost feel the weight of his thoughts hovering over them like a thundercloud swollen with unshed lightening. Her instincts were kicking in telling her that something was wrong and it went beyond his sickly pallor and weakened state. His condition was the result of something he had encountered, not the cause. It was very important that she find out what that catalyst was.  
  
Finishing the last of her coffee she came alongside of him until their shoulders were almost touching. His eyes swiveled in her direction for one appraising glance and then scanned the city once more.   
  
"Vegeta," she tried again. "What happened after you left Capsule Corp.?"  
  
He looked down at the traffic criss-crossing the streets, his sharp eyes watching the pedestrians going on with their dull little lives. People who believed that they had control over their own destinies oblivious that they were just marionettes on a string being guided by a puppeteer with a perverted sense of humor. That vision of him as a Super Saiyan plagued him, hovering on the horizon like a mirage and constantly beyond his grasp. It was easy to wish to be dead; It got him off of the hook of what had been revealed to be an enormous burden of commitments and obligations that he had no experience in dealing with. His supposedly unbreakable will was straining under the weight of this new knowledge and he had never felt so alone and scared in all of his life.  
  
'Eight years from now. Maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?' It was the ultimate depraved irony: To come to the Earth seeking immortality and finding out that you weren't even going to reach middle age.  
  
He released a shaky sigh at that realization. A hand gently rubbed his back and he looked over at her again. Bulma had never seen such haunting sorrow on another person's face in all of her life. "It's going to be all right," she told him in a soft voice.  
  
'You care for this woman', Kami said in the back of his mind. 'It is the only line of this entire collection that is closest to your own.'  
  
It seemed to be a sound strategy in this personal crisis to possibly endear himself to the one person on this entire world that he might dare to trust. That was almost as alien a concept to him as another emotion; one whose word he knew he would never be able to utter aloud even in casual reference. There was something gnawing away inside of him attempting to ease the blackness from his dark heart. He wasn't sure what to make of such a traitorous presence but it was forcing him to catch a glimpse of possibilities that he had never believed possible for himself.  
  
Staring into Bulma's calm, expectant face he saw a cumulative of emotions freely displayed there without any barriers. That trust was there as well as that other one he was still trying to puzzle out. There was no word for it in his Saiyajin dialect but humans used it constantly, with no obvious shame or regret.  
  
That alien word was called: Love.  
  
"Bulma," he whispered. "I am...lost."  
  
"I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere," she said as she wrapped her arms around him. He tried drawing away from her, not wanting her to see this vulnerability but he had no more strength to put up any kind of a fight and surrendered into the comfort that she freely offered. He held onto her like a drowning man loathe to give up his only preserver and Bulma soothed in that sweet voice of hers that he wasn't alone on this world. That someone cared for him. That everything was going to be okay.  
  
When he finally drew away from her he was the person who initiated the kiss that followed. At first Bulma hesitated, feeling the heat he radiated that had nothing to do with power. He was still very weak and she had no idea of the extent of the effects of the Saiyajin virus. She ended up relenting, recognizing this rare offer of tenderness and eager to share it before the moment could be lost. There was no telling how long this blow to his ego would last; it could be mere minutes or several days. The young heiress only knew that she wanted to savor this very special union before the old, distrustful Vegeta was back.  
  
Her lips, soft, warm, sweet and eager, molded their quivering curves against his, her dainty tongue sliding into his mouth like a curious snake, exploring and caressing his own. His hands slid restlessly up and down the length of her back to finally cup the quivering pads of her buttocks. With a moan she began to rub her lower belly against the growing length of hardness at his groin. They were breathing heavily when they parted and he gently squeezed one pert breast, staring into her eyes for her reaction. His hand was cold and at any other time she would have immediately sensed that something was wrong but that was currently the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.  
  
"Let's go into the bedroom," she said breathlessly.  
  
He picked her up and carried her without a word. They kissed passionately during the short journey, their tongues mating in a lazy dance that was teasing and playful in its freshness, a sign of their approaching union. It would be one that would ease the last barriers of unfamiliarity between them and make them a couple in all true senses of the word.  
  
It's going to be wonderful, Bulma thought when he laid her gently on the bed and leaned over her, absorbing all facets of her beauty with his dark, mysterious eyes.  
  
It turned out to be a disaster.  
  
  
Undressing slowly the two slowly became acquainted to one another's bodies. Each lingering touch and passionate caress strengthened their resolve and all pretenses of that propriety the night before were eagerly abandoned.  
  
Surrendering to his touch, Bulma eased herself back as he lowered his head from her moist lips to softly mouth one strutted nipple, his tongue flicking across the sensitive nub before moving onto the other. Kneading his shoulders with anxious fingers, she moaned at his skill and was about to suggest another area that was being neglected when he suddenly growled and bit down.  
  
Releasing a pained yelp, Bulma pushed him away and massaged her aching nipple, staring at him in surprise. "What the hell was that? You bit me!" She looked down and damned if there wasn't the imprint of his teeth on her areola.  
  
"So?" he asked, immediately on the defensive. "Don't you like that?"  
  
"Hell, no! If I want my nipple pierced at least I'll use an icecube to-to..." She halted her rant at the expression of bewilderment evident on his flushed features. She had to remind herself at times like this that he wasn't from Earth and that his interactive skills, even in this intimate area, were dictated by alien habits. That reminded her of something else.   
  
"It's okay," she tried to soothe him, touching his face and kissing him. He began reaching for her again as she got up from the bed. "Just a second. I have to get something." She left the room, hearing his frustrated exhale of breath as she rummaged briefly in her purse. When she came back she gave him a square piece of plastic, "Here."  
  
Vegeta regarded the offering in confusion. "What's this?"  
  
She took it back and ripped open the sleeve, pulling out the small plastic ring inside of it. "It's a condom."   
  
The Saiyan eyed it with open disgust. It was milky white and slimy and when he took it from her and sniffed it, he almost gagged. It reeked of chemicals. "What's it for?"  
  
"It's so I don't get pregnant," Bulma said quickly. She could feel the mood slipping away with each passing second and was desperate to salvage whatever threads of passion that remained.  
  
"Humans are not a self-fertilizing species?"  
  
"I'm on the pill but you can't be too careful." She didn't want to know how many alien skank's the Saiyan may have slept with as he roamed the known galaxy. Dorothy Pereaux was bad enough. The last thing she needed was some space-faring STD to contend with. "I'll let you handle that while I go freshen up," she said and went into the bathroom. She moistened a washcloth and held it against her aching breast and stared at her reflection, feeling the first tendrils of doubt swamp her now that the light-headedness of lust had abated.  
  
"What did you expect?" she told her mirror image. "You didn't believe things would go off without a hitch, did you? You've only been with one man before, of course you're going to be nervous-"  
  
"Who the hell are you talking to?!" came Vegeta's voice from outside the room.  
  
"Nobody!" she yelled back. She looked back into the mirror again and said comfortingly, "It's going to be all right." Nevertheless, she took the robe off of the hook on the door and wrapped it around herself self-consciously. With a deep breath she opened the door.  
  
Vegeta was sitting in the same spot on the bed staring at her suspiciously, even trying to see past her at who might have snuck into the bathroom to converse with her. He was still wearing his pants, she noticed in confusion and his mouth was twisted into a grimace of distaste.  
  
"Wh-why aren't you undressed? What did you do with the condom?"  
  
Scowling at her resentfully, he grated out, "You could have warned me that it would make my mouth numb."  
  
"You ATE it?!"  
  
"It took some chewing," he told her, making a wry frown of distaste.  
  
That was too much for Bulma. She threw her head back and started laughing in great braying howls until she had to lean against the wall for support. The sudden similarity of situations brought Vegeta back to the Pereaux woman's bedroom and, as his erection deflated, his deep rage grew.   
  
"Don't you dare laugh at me," he said in a dangerous tone.  
  
Ignoring the caution she continued her laughing until it was almost hysterics. It was pretty clear the Vegeta had mistaken her reference of the pill to think what she had offered him was an oral contraceptive. The sour expression on his face had been absolutely priceless and at the mere thought, she erupted into shrill peals of giggles.  
  
"!!I WILL NOT BE LAUGHED AT!!" he screamed at her. He clambered to his feet and raised his hand in her direction. It immediately started glowing.  
  
Her laughter abruptly broke off when she saw the deadly intent in his coal-black eyes and she froze helplessly in place. There was nowhere for her to hide and when her wide, terrified eyes found his own she saw no trace of recognition or compassion. He was going to kill her. "...Veh-Vegeta..." Her legs went weak and she slid to the floor. "Please don't.."  
  
In his instability compounded by his illness, all that he saw was the mocking face of Dorothy Pereaux. He was back at the moment in her bedroom at her townhouse. He had been powerless to execute her for her disrespect then but now he had power again and his honor would be avenged. "Filthy whore. Give me one good reason why not," he said from behind clenched teeth. His entire body was shaking from his uncontrollable anger, everything but his hand which was rock solid and ready to release a charge of concentrated ki that would obliterate her on contact.   
  
"I love you," she whimpered in an unsteady voice. She hugged herself and squeezed her eyes shut, her small form visibly cringing as she awaited her doom.  
  
Those three words penetrated his unstable outrage and he was left stammering in confusion. He had expected everything else; anger, terror, tears, hate...but love? In the midst of this dreadful scene how could she make such a statement to him just as he was preparing to kill her? Dorothy's face swam before his vision to be replaced by Bulma's terrified tear-streaked one. He lowered his now-trembling hand and allowed the lethal energy to dissipate like harmless smoke. The impact of a point-blank release of that amount of power would have incinerated her on the spot and he had been a mere second from doing it.  
  
All because she had simply laughed.  
  
Realizing that the terrible blast had not yet fallen, Bulma braved herself to open her eyes and see if the threat was over. Vegeta was staring at her in horror his face less pallid than a corpse's, visibly struggling to form words. "Vegeta?" she asked in a tentative voice.  
  
He fled the room. Running to the balcony he didn't know if he had the power to even sustain flight if he dove over the railing. He might just drop like a rock. Not thinking, he tensened his muscles to launch himself in the air regardless of the consequences and ended up skidding to a halt. All of the Z Fighter's were standing out on the balcony waiting for him.  
  
"You see?!" Yamcha told the others in an excited rush. "He almost killed her! I was right all along, wasn't I? He's no better than Frieza. We have to put him down like the dog he is."  
  
Piccolo took one step forward and extended his hand. "Come along with us, Vegeta. You're only avoiding the inevitable."  
  
"Get away from me," Vegeta growled, backing up into the living room.  
  
"We'll put you out of your misery," the tall Namek told him in that bass rumble of his. "It'll be painless-"  
  
"Go AWAY!" He brought both hands to one side, cupping them as he attempted to summon the energies for a Gallic Gun. There was no responsive click in his dazed mind indicative of a successful power up. He had used what little power he possessed in his abortive attack on Doro-...Bulma. Gods, he had nearly killed her!  
  
"You're dangerous, Vegeta," Gokou said, taking advantage of his indecision. He gripped his hands into fists by his sides and exploded into living flame, becoming the thing that Vegeta so admired. And feared. The Super Saiyan of Legend. "I'll take you by force if I have to."  
  
As she left the bedroom, Bulma was capable of shaking off the near-fatal encounter with an experience borne of so many similar situations during her misadventures among Gokou and the others. She had come close to death so many times that she was getting pathetically jaded whenever such a situation arose. The confrontation with Vegeta had rattled her, there was no doubt about that but a part of her knew that something was wrong with him. The doctor had asked her that first night if he suffered from delusions and she understood the truth when she emerged from the hallway and saw him yelling threats at an empty balcony.  
  
"Vegeta!" she called from her place, not daring to go any closer until he could be placated.   
  
Actually snarling in rage like a cornered animal he whirled on her, his teeth bared. He recoiled as if physically struck. Standing behind her was the rotting bulk of Nappa, more skeleton than man. The charred remains of his flesh were still smoldering; the acrid smoke was slowing filling up the room. The only part of his anatomy that had survived relatively unscathed was his massive erection. It wagged beneath his charred stomach like a gnarled limb as he lumbered towards Bulma. He made an oval of his blistered lips and ran his tongue about them in a noisy slurp. "I'm gonna fuck this bitch 'til she bleeds," he said, winking at Vegeta. "Just like old times, eh?"  
  
Beyond words, the smaller Saiyan launched himself with a terrifying roar of rage at the behemoth. Bulma ducked to one side as he leapt past her, embracing only empty air and colliding with the wall. He fell to the floor in a heap and shook his head, droplets of blood falling on the carpet and splattering against the wall. Looking around warily, his eyes found Bulma as if it were the first time he had noticed her. "Where is he?"  
  
That crazed look had left his eyes and she braved himself to go over to him. His nose was bleeding quite badly and when she touched his face she drew it back as if she had been burned. His fever had returned with a vengeance. "Vegeta, there's no one here. You're hallucinating-"  
  
"-Where are you, Nappa?!" Vegeta hollered into the empty living room, his eyes darting in every direction possible.  
  
In as level a voice as she could manage, Bulma attempted to reason with him. "Nappa's not here. He's dead."  
  
"Of course he's dead," Vegeta snapped at her, rising slowly to his feet. "But he can come back. So can Radditz. That mound of maggot's visited me a few days ago-" He raised his voice as he looked around the room, "But I'm still here and breathing, you dumb fuck!"  
  
"Vegeta, come back to bed," Bulma said, tugging gently on his arm.  
  
The Saiyan stared back at her. "They all keep pressuring me to join them. I want them to stop. I've made my choice but nobody seems to listen."  
  
"What are you talking about? What choice?"  
  
"To live. I don't want to die anymore but-" he cocked his head to one side as if hearing a far off voice that was beyond the range of human ears. For no good reason both of her arms broke out in gooseflesh when he confided to her, "Father keeps calling for me to come home."  
  
  
After much coaxing, Bulma managed to get the Saiyan into bed and he succumbed to the fever and fell into a fitful doze plagued with bad dreams. Watching as he thrashed in his sleep, she was beside herself with worry not knowing what she could possibly do for him in this agitated state. And she'd be lying if she didn't confess to some concern for her own welfare as well. Had she thought things would be so simple with a handful of pills and a couple of meals? He had not explained the affects of V'Nhar to her but it was plain that it was compromising not only his health to extremes but also his sanity.  
  
I don't want to die anymore, he had said.   
  
She thought back to a month before on a sinking island off of the coast of Australia where she had tried to get the ailing Saiyan to submit to her care before he died of exposure; 'It would be for the best', he had replied.  
  
Dear Kami was it possible? Bulma thought in something close to a panic. All of those injuries in the gravity simulator, that explosion that had leveled it- and him. Had she been purposely avoiding what was becoming so brutally obvious? Was Vegeta suicidal? She didn't want to leave his side but she was out of her depth here. She was a scientist and if he were a robot she could repair him with ease. But he wasn't and what he needed she couldn't do for him.  
  
He needed a doctor.   
  
  
The knocking on the front door roused him from the painful memories of his ordeals on Namek and he pulled awake like a man trying to climb out of quicksand; slowly, imperceptibly, weary to the bones and aching all over. His nose hurt the most and he pinched the bridge and released a grunt of pain at the contact. It felt broken but he had no memory of what had happened. Everything that had happened after breakfast was a confusing blur. He actually forgot why he was jarred awake and began drifting off once more when that knock came again. He looked around for the woman but could not sense her anywhere in the suite.  
  
He didn't want to get out of bed and decided to ignore whoever was at the door when a voice called out, "Room service." Those were two words he had learned to respond to. It translated to mean food and he got up out of the comforting surface of that wonderful bed and wearily stalked to the door.  
  
He undid the locks and pulled it open.  
  
Thinking that no one was in the suite and on his way down the corridor to leave, the man looked back.  
  
"Vegeta," Dr. Briefs said, without surprise.  
  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Fourteen: Dr. Briefs has finally tracked his daughter down. What will be his reaction when he discovers that Vegeta has been living there with her? And what WAS that business with the Z Fighters anyway? 


	14. Mended Bridges

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Fourteen - Mended Bridges  
  
  
Any words of possible greeting were lost on Dr. Briefs as he stared at the lone Saiyan standing in the doorway, blocking his way. The older man managed one stunned blink before considering the person before him in astonishment.  
  
Vegeta stared back without emotion, his face unnaturally pale except for a flush of color above his high cheekbones. There were bruised half-moons beneath his eyes and his nose looked swollen. He appeared to be holding onto the door more for support then to bar the other man's way. Wearing only a pair of loose pants his weight loss was plainly evident, his muscle tone having shrunk during the time of inactivity. If not for that unruly mane of erect hair, Bulma's father would have mistaken him for someone else.  
  
"Can...can I come in?" he attempted in a small voice, hardly able to believe what he was seeing.  
  
Moving away from the doorway without comment, the Saiyan backed up to permit him entrance. His eyes slid to an area to Dr. Briefs right and lingered there as he appeared to consider something.  
  
Entering the room and closing the door after himself, Dr. Briefs cast a quick glance around looking for damage in the walls and furniture or body parts on the floor. Everything was as neat as a pin. "...Is Bulma here?"  
  
Roused out of his thoughts, Vegeta looked at him again and frowned in confusion as if it were the first time he had seen him. He cleared the distance between them and suddenly poked the smaller man on the shoulder. "Are you real?"  
  
Rubbing his arm Dr. Briefs took a closer look at the Saiyan. "Vegeta? Are you all right?"  
  
Disregarding the concern, Vegeta gestured to an area to his left and continued saying; "-Because he says HE'S real but I can't touch him. He won't shut up, though."  
  
Sensing something was very wrong with this situation the older man asked in a quiet voice, "Who won't shut up?"  
  
"Nappa," came the answer before Vegeta turned and addressed empty air in a harsh voice; "Screw you! Why don't you at least cover that thing up? It's disgusting! Go pull on a codpiece, you fat fuck!"  
  
Dr. Briefs was backing up towards the breakfast bar on the far side of the room trying not to be too obvious about it. Vegeta turned back to him and crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"  
  
Swallowing, the old man admitted, "I came to see my daughter. Where is Bulma?"  
  
"...Bulma..." Vegeta closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side. He was silent for a very long time before he opened them again. "She's somewhere in the building. She'll be back soon, she's never gone long."  
  
"Have you...been here with her for awhile?" Dr. Briefs attempted.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"...Don't you know?"  
  
He shook his head in confusion. "I don't even know what day it is. I don't really care."  
  
Slowly sitting down into the chesterfield, the Capsule Corp. president asked, "You wouldn't mind if I stayed right here and waited for Bulma to arrive, would you? I won't be any bother. I promise."  
  
Vegeta appeared to consider him for a moment and then passed a sly smirk off to his left. "I'm going back to bed. Nappa said that he'll keep an eye on you."  
  
Dr. Briefs fearfully looked around himself in confusion. "Th-that's fine, Vegeta. You have yourself a-a good sleep."  
  
Vegeta's slight smile broadened. "Don't bend over," he cautioned and left to return to the bedroom, closing the door after him.  
  
Sitting as still as a statue, the old man tried to submerge a shiver of apprehension as he regarded the space to his left. Very slowly he touched the cushion beside him feeling nothing wondering if some of the Saiyan's obvious madness was catching. True to his word he stayed in his spot and didn't move a muscle.  
  
  
Dr. Briefs had endured a rough couple of weeks himself since the day that Yamcha had felt the need to unburden himself of his damaging information.   
  
Normally content to just sit back and let the events of his life pass by outside of his laboratory, his paternal instincts had finally come to the fore when the young fighter had told him what his own daughter had not; Vegeta had not been some alien ally they had just met by chance on Namek and had been invited back to Capsule Corp. because he had no where else to go. When the scientist had realized that the Saiyan had been one of the original pair who had invaded the Earth at such a terrible loss of life he had been thunder-struck. To compound matters his own beautiful little girl even appeared to be attracted to the monster!  
  
The confrontation in the living room had gone very well. Dr. Briefs had expected the egotistical Saiyan to move out after their terse words. He had, in fact been counting on it. What he hadn't planned on was Bulma's overreaction to the act; actually quitting her job and moving out of the building in protest. He had drastically underestimated what he had figured to be a heady crush on the admittedly unique alien to actually be something far more serious. Yamcha's warning had come too late and Vegeta's hold on her had all ready sunk in its claws.   
  
Still, he wasn't afforded the luxury of dwelling on the issue for very long as repercussions of his canceling the communication chip project began to reverberate. He found himself struggling to cope with an uncooperative staff, perplexed shareholders and the companies who had placed the initial bids and were now becoming vicious. In the back of his mind he could only hope that the odd pair had been separated before anything more intimate and damaging could have developed hopefully giving Bulma the opportunity to see the situation from a new perspective and finally discover that her father had been right all along.  
  
When even his considerably younger wife began giving him the cold shoulder, his resolve began to flag at last. She wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree but her insight into people was uncanny. There had been a soft spot in her heart for Vegeta since the moment he had arrived. When she told him that he had made a mistake, seven days after Vegeta had left and Bulma had moved out, he finally listened.  
  
Three days after that, Yamcha appeared again with Gokou in tow. Cornering the elderly man in his office, Yamcha told him, "Dr. Briefs, I'm sorry about this whole mess. I feel responsible."  
  
"What's done is done," he said in a forlorn voice, absently shuffling papers on top of desk. At some unseen cue, the fighter left the office leaving Gokou behind. "There's nothing you can add to what I know. Yamcha told me everything," he told Bulma's closest friend. The harshness had gone out of his voice at the words and he was only relating clear fact.  
  
"Oh!" Gokou said in disappointment. That cheerful expression never left his kindly face as he added, "So you all ready know that when Vegeta was a little kid Frieza demanded custody of him in exchange for his father's life and homeworld...Which that villain ended up killing anyway as it turned out. I don't remember telling Yamcha about any of that but I guess he-"  
  
"Hold on," Dr. Briefs cut in. "What did you say?"  
  
Gokou scratched the back of his head as his eternally youthful face beamed in true innocence. "He DIDN'T tell you, did he? Wow! That's like ripping the first chapter out of a book and trying to make sense of the rest!" he said cheerfully.  
  
"Are you saying that Yamcha lied?" the elderly scientist rasped out.  
  
"No, but he wasn't even on Namek. He had no right to tell you stuff he got second hand. Heck, I didn't get there until the end. Y'see Vegeta came back to visit me when I was fighting Frieza and close to losing," he tapped his temple for emphasis. "He was in my mind. He told me all sorts of stuff and what he didn't say I could see for myself. I doubt that even he knows how much I saw."  
  
His interest piqued, Dr. Briefs sat back in his chair and gave the younger man his full attention. "Go on," he encouraged.  
  
"Well, it's like I said; Vegeta had to leave his world in exchange for Frieza not blowing it up. He had to do all sorts of twisted stuff but nothing he did was ever enough. Frieza killed his father and destroyed his homeworld and any other Saiyan he came across. Nappa and Radditz were beneath his notice but Vegeta was like a-a pet, and that was just how he got treated; like an abused pet."   
  
Gokou paused for breath and to sort out his thoughts as he paced the large room, trying to remember what he had glimpsed into the older Saiyan's mind during that brief contact. "The only thing that kept Vegeta going was the thought of getting stronger than Frieza and one day defeating him. All of that hatred just festered inside of him until it was all that remained. I got to know him on Namek, Dr. Briefs. Yamcha didn't. I'm not saying that Vegeta isn't evil; he's mean as heck and he's got one sick sense of humor, but he's not so far gone that he doesn't know right from wrong. Bulma had been telling me how much he had calmed down since he came to Capsule Corp. but now..." he shrugged his wide shoulders sadly.  
  
"I was scared that he would kill us all," Dr. Briefs confessed, unable to even raise his eyes so great was his shame.  
  
"Vegeta could have done that the first day he came back. He's second only to me in sheer power and I wasn't even on Earth at the time. There was nothing in his way to stop him," Gokou rationalized. "He didn't because he didn't want to."  
  
"Why?"   
  
Gokou only looked at him.  
  
"...Bulma?" the scientist whispered.  
  
The young fighter gave one curt nod. "She's very important to Vegeta, Dr. Briefs. I wish I could tell you just how much but I've sworn to a promise. Just believe me when I say that it's important that they become friends." He wanted to add, 'and something more' but he didn't want to give the old man a coronary.   
  
"I guess then, the next logical step would be to track him down-"  
  
"Piccolo is looking for Vegeta as we speak," Gokou told him.  
  
Considering him fondly, the older man said, "I can see that you've put a lot of thought into this."  
  
"I like my friends to be happy," the young fighter replied with his characteristic honesty. "At the moment, nobody is."  
  
There was some small talk after that but nothing that Dr. Briefs dwelled on for long; swept up in problems of his own. With the seasoned experience of a thousand business meetings he knew that a compromise was going to have to be made with his beloved daughter in order to placate her. It was no longer a matter of who was right and who was wrong anymore, he accepted his defeat stoically. All he wanted was for things to be back to the way that they were.  
  
Gokou had told him that it was Piccolo's intention to have Vegeta come back to Capsule Corp. and the next day he waited expectantly for any sign. Eventually someone did show up, but it wasn't the Saiyan.  
  
Piccolo waited outside of the building for Dr. Briefs, his cape a smoldering ruin and his clothes covered in dirt and ash. The forbidding expression on his viridian features spoke volumes to the elderly human who had to summon all of his reserves of bravery just for an approach. "Did-did you find Vegeta?" he managed to ask.  
  
Looming over him, the Namek gave him one appraising glare and then handed him something from the pocket of his loose trousers. It was the Dragonball radar. Dr. Briefs almost dropped it in his shock and was totally unprepared when the huge alien spoke up in his deep baritone and told him of a Saiyan who would rather wish to be dead again then have to put up with a planet that despised him. There was no accusing tone to his brisk words, only clear fact as he related his confrontation with the depressed Saiyan and the subsequent conversation that had followed. Piccolo chose not to add the diversion at Kami's Lookout. He had no facts of what had transpired there and, unlike Yamcha, did not broadcast an event unless he was able to verify its authenticity.  
  
Taking advantage of Dr. Briefs stunned silence, Piccolo chose to add, "If he has not come back here yet, you can assume the worst. I no longer have a sense of him anymore."  
  
Dr. Briefs didn't like the sound of that one little bit. In a weak voice he asked, "What could that mean?"  
  
Piccolo chose not to answer. Speculation was not one of his skills. The tension etched into his gruff features was answer enough.  
  
With Gokou's gift of instant transmission, Dr. Briefs assembled all of the fighters that made up Earth's Special Forces. Considering who the person was that the elderly scientist wanted to find, it took some persuasion for most of the men to agree to his request; Particularly Tien and his companion Chiaotzu who had suffered terribly when the Saiyan's had first invaded. They were finally all assembled in the compound late the next morning and Gokou had spoken up that he had sensed Vegeta's ki somewhere in the Capital's outer limits before it disappeared again. They all agreed to patrol different sectors of the sprawling city, intent to locate the elusive Saiyan but not approach him. If one of them found him, they were to tell Piccolo who would meet him on his own.  
  
The huge Namek had not gone into any of the details with the other Z Fighters as he had with Dr. Briefs. It was not a matter of confidentiality or respect that was the motivation here; It was just the simple truth that Piccolo still did not like the Earth defenders. He had battled them for years, intent on their destruction and just because he had let himself be 'tamed' by Gokou's son did not mean that he considered the weaker humans his trusted allies. He had found some common ground in his earlier confrontation with Vegeta and wanted to be the one to meet with him again if he was found. What he would say, he had no idea. In the back of his mind, Kami had gone silent on the issue and would offer no words of support. Piccolo didn't know what to make of that lapse but he resolved to deal with that problem when it arose.  
  
As it turned out, all of their efforts appeared to be fruitless. After several days there wasn't even a hint of Vegeta's presence in the Western Capital and the group gradually extended their range outside of the city limits and into the neighboring counties. Dr. Briefs was prepared to fear the worst when he passed through the living room where his wife was talking on the vidphone with someone and just as he was about to go upstairs, he heard her say in a hushed voice, "Give my best to Vegeta."  
  
Followed by his daughter's voice, "I will."  
  
He should have known.  
  
  
And so here he was, sitting in the living room of an affluent suite that was paid for by Capsule Corp. where his daughter was harboring the very alien he had been trying to find. It was all rather ironic, in an odd sort of way. Somehow, Vegeta had found Bulma after his confrontation with the large Namek. Ignorant of the true reasons for the Saiyan's sickly appearance, Dr. Briefs could only conclude that it looked as if Piccolo had cleaned his clock. Why else would Vegeta have simply stepped aside and let him enter without argument?  
  
It was that curious poke on the shoulder and the inquiry if he was real that made the elderly scientist wonder if something else was amiss. He had been dreading coming to the suite for the confrontation to come and was actually relieved that the dreaded face-to-face with the Saiyan turned out to be the least of his problems.   
  
Forty minutes later there was the sound of muffled talking outside of the door and the sound of a key-card being slid into the lock. As it opened he could hear his daughters voice, "-didn't want to leave him alone. I hope he's all right but I just had to try and find- !!DAD!!" She stopped dead in her tracks.  
  
"Bulma, I had to see you-"  
  
"Vegeta?" she entered the room and looked around frantically. "VEGETA?!"  
  
"He's in the bedroom," Dr. Briefs offered.  
  
Sparing him one suspicious glance, she left the living room without another word and disappeared down the corridor. Behind her, another man entered the suite and closed the door. He and Bulma's father locked eyes for a moment before he extended his hand. "Dr. Briefs, hello. I'm Phillip Reznik, a physician employed by the Hammorski Plaza."  
  
He took the proffered hand and shook it hesitantly. "Is my daughter alright?" he asked in confusion and concern.  
  
"Ms. Briefs is fine. However I can't say the same for her companion."  
  
Before he could question that comment, Bulma appeared at the hallway entrance. "Dr. Reznik, please hurry."  
  
"Excuse me," the man excused himself and disappeared with her into the bedroom without any words that could ease Dr. Briefs confusion and rising apprehension. After a considerable time, he steeled himself and went down the hallway and stood outside of the closed door, his ears straining to catch snippets of muffled conversation.  
  
"-don't need that. Get away from me," came Vegeta's voice in a quarrelsome tone.  
  
The Doctor's deep voice assured him. "It'll help to relax you."  
  
"I don't need help relaxing. All I do is sleep as it is and- WOULD SOMEBODY TELL NAPPA TO STOP LAUGHING!!"  
  
"Vegeta, please..." It sounded as if Bulma was crying. At the plaintive note in his daughter's voice, Dr. Briefs had to submerge the instinct to rush in and comfort her.  
  
Dr. Reznik said quickly, "I'm sorry but it's for the best-"  
  
"-OUCH! You sonovabitch! I'm gonna Big Bang your ass for that! I'm gonna shove a Gallic Gun right up you- your- I'm- I..."  
  
There was a long moment of silence before Bulma hesitantly spoke up. "How long will he be out?"  
  
"It was a powerful antipsychotic. Probably for the rest of the day. His fever has spiked to 117F, if we don't lower it soon it could mean-" His low voice was lost to the sound of Bulma's soft weeping. With great effort, Dr. Briefs forced himself to return to the living room and wait for them. He sat on the couch with his head in his hands feeling helpless, miserable and very, very guilty. What could he possibly say to her that could make up for this terrible situation they were all in?  
  
An unknown time later, the physician left the suite passing Dr. Briefs a curt nod as he left. When Bulma stepped into the living room, her father rose slowly, facing her and the pair regarded one another through an invisible wall of tension and unspoken words. When he extended his arms in invitation that wall shattered and Bulma rushed into his embrace without hesitation and he held her like she was a young child again, crying against his shoulder as he told her in a hoarse voice how sorry he was. And he meant it with every fiber of his being. He had over-reacted because he loved her and that paternal protectiveness had nearly destroyed them all. It would never happen again.  
  
They sat together on the couch, almost whispering to one another as Bulma told him what she had been doing for the last two weeks and how Vegeta had found her two days ago, leaving out the sordid business of Dorothy Pereaux. Feeling the over-powering urge to share everything with his stressed child, Dr. Briefs confided his conversation with Piccolo. He didn't want to add to her problems but he felt she deserved to know what the Saiyan had been up to in his absence and why he had fallen to such a sorry state. If anything, instead of horrified Bulma appeared relieved by the news. It helped to fill in some gaps that she knew Vegeta would never confide to her on his own.  
  
"I have the Radar locked in the safe-"  
  
She was shaking her head, "He won't be looking for the Dragonballs anymore, dad. He told me that he wants to live. It's just that he's having hallucinations of his cohorts and enemies that are interfering with his judgment."  
  
Dr. Briefs was nodding slowly. He had gotten a taste of the Saiyan's instability when he had first arrived. "What's wrong with him, Bulma?"  
  
"It's a Saiyan condition brought about by not eating. I don't know the full extent of it but he's delusional, in pain and...powerless."  
  
His bushy eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Is there a cure?"  
  
"He needs rest and nourishment but what he needs most is for his fever to go down. Dr. Reznik gave him a shot of haloperidol to help with the delusions he's suffering but..." Her voice threatened to break and she visibly composed herself before she continued, "He's really sick, dad."  
  
"Bulma, come back to Capsule Corp.-"  
  
She opened her mouth to begin a fevered debate and he quickly added, "You AND Vegeta. Please come back home. We can put him in the infirmary where he'll get around the clock care."  
  
Bulma looked in the direction of the hallway where the bedroom lied, her face lost in thought as she considered the offer. Finally, she shook her head. "No. We're staying here."  
  
"I said I was sorry, I don't know what more I can say to make it-"  
  
"This isn't about you, dad. At least not anymore. I want this time alone with Vegeta and the Hammorski is the most neutral territory we could find. We're safe here and we're unbothered. It's what we both need right now."  
  
That steel was back in her voice and the elder man knew an argument would only create more friction. "Do you know how long you're going to stay?"  
  
"Until Vegeta is ready to leave. Not before," came the answer.  
  
Dr. Briefs considered his only child for one long, evaluating moment and got reluctantly to his feet. "Your mother and I will be home waiting for you until you're ready," he said in a quiet tone. His face softened with a small smile as he added, "We'll be waiting for you both."  
  
Wordlessly, Bulma hugged him again. "Thank you, daddy," she whispered into his shoulder. "I love you, daughter," he said in a hoarse voice and she returned the words with true meaning and without any malice. The worst was over, now the healing could begin.  
  
They parted and he affectionately kissed her forehead and went to the door. Before he left the suite he turned back to her with his mouth open but the look of resolve was back on her face and the words died in his throat before he could voice them. He had been about to caution her to be careful and came to the brutal honesty that he had never felt such protectiveness towards her before when she had been gallivanting around the countryside with Gokou and the others and could really have used his concern then. It was hypocritical for him to establish himself as a father figure now when she needed it over a decade before. He had failed her with his indifference and eccentricity and his over-compensation to Vegeta's presence had been a complete disaster for all parties involved.  
  
"Tell Vegeta I'm truly very sorry."  
  
"I'll try," Bulma said, but her tone, like her manner suggested that such an offering would be absolutely worthless from the Saiyan's perspective. Vegeta would never trust him again and no amount of words was ever going to change that. Her father had made a very lethal enemy that day in the living room of Capsule Corp. "Make sure that you call off Gokou and the others from continuing their search party. Vegeta thought they were hunting him down to capture him."  
  
Dr. Briefs eyes widened behind his glasses. "I just wanted to find him for you to give you some piece of mind."  
  
"How could he have known that?" she accused bitterly.  
  
He watched as she assumed a protective stance and he knew he didn't dare argue with her and risk damaging the bridge they had started to mend on this day. "Please call me immediately if there's anything that you need, Bulma," he chose to say instead. "I mean that, anything at all."  
  
"I'll keep in touch, dad," she said but offered no more and he took his leave and closed the door.  
  
  
The rest of the week was an interlaced blur of pills, meals and nightmares for the ailing Saiyan. He had no clear recollection of any specific event during those days, just a familiar female presence that appeared to always be there, offering food or medicine or just comforting him with her presence when he awoke from the dreams where Nappa or Radditz were taunting him about his weakness. Each time the woman was there with something cool to place on his heated brow, soothing him with softly voiced words until the impressions of the dream faded and he could fall asleep again. There had never been any female presence he could recall that had ever looked after him with such efficient attendance. Any other person may have called out for a mother but Vegeta was ignorant of such maternal care and could only silently relent to the gentleness that the benevolent presence offered. At times he mistook the woman as a dark-haired amazon and tried to draw away from her until that image passed and he caught sight of that earlier vision of the sea-foam haired beauty with the halo of light above her head. The concept of protective angels was lost on the alien but he considered himself fortunate nonetheless for her presence. Once, he asked her for her name and when he heard it he wrapped himself into like a shield of armor and carried it with him down into his dreams. When the taunting in the darkness began he enfolded himself within that name and declared to the mocking figures surrounding him: 'You can't hurt me anymore. I'm protected by someone far more powerful that you. Her name is-'  
  
"-Bulma," he whispered in his sleep. Sitting beside him, she looked up from the book she had been reading and betrayed a slightly flattered smile. She gently touched his face and watched as he responded to the caress as he had that long ago day in the drafting department, leaning his face against her fingers. His flesh no longer felt so hot to her touch and she allowed herself to feel the first glimmers of hope that his battered system was finally beginning to rebound. She retrieved a digital thermometer lying on the night table and placed the probe in his left ear, counting slowly to twenty before she removed it. Staring at the read-out she smiled in relief. 113F.  
  
"You're going to be all right," she told him and kissed him fondly on the cheek and just as she was drawing away his eyes opened and immediately focused on her. "Welcome back, Vegeta," she greeted with a pleasant smile.  
  
He blinked at her in surprise. "Did I go somewhere?"  
  
"You tell me," she said, rearranging the pillows behind him as he struggled to sit up. "You've been lost to a fever for close to five days."  
  
He made a fist of his right hand and felt the responsive flex of muscles ripple along his arm. It appeared as if his strength was finally returning. Examining his fingers he noticed that the trembling had ceased. He made a small ki ball of blue energy and played it skillfully along the back of his knuckles before he dissipated it. A small smile flashed across his face.   
  
"What's the last thing that you remember?" she asked him.  
  
His dark brows furrowed in concentration as he fought past half-ghosts of figures and places that were part dream and partly memories. "We had breakfast," he said at last, nodding to himself. "After that we-" His eyes widened and he cast a startled glance at her, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.  
  
"We kissed," she finished for him, watching his discomfort with amusement. "And we made out a little, nothing more happened."  
  
"You laughed at me," he accused.  
  
"Vegeta, you ate a condom." She had to cover her mouth as the mere memory caused the giggles to resurface and she visibly struggled to keep them down. He was looking at her in growing irritation, his hands spread in that 'So?' gesture and she explained, "I gave it to you place over your erection before we had sex-"  
  
"-Is THAT what the damned thing was for?" he blurted out. "How was I supposed to know that?!"  
  
She lost her struggle with her humor and burst out laughing. Helplessly she fell back into the bed and tried to muffle her shrieks of amusement into the blankets and she would almost succeed until she would look up at him sitting beside her with a disapproving scowl on his face and his arms crossed and would lose it again. Vegeta didn't know why he bothered putting up with this bullshit and got up and went to the bathroom, deliberately slamming the door on her shrill giggles.  
  
When her laughing fit had subsided, Bulma laid back in the bed in an exhausted heap, smiling up at the ceiling as the last of her tension eased away. Aside from snatches of naps she had managed to grab between the Saiyan's meals and prescribed regimen of medicines there had been very little in the way of actual sleep for her and she was astonished to find how very tired she truly was. She could hear water running in the bathroom and that sound was calming, assuring, and she allowed it to lull her into a peaceful doze.   
  
It would be several hours later before she would pull out of her exhausted slumber and look around the room, noting how dark the surroundings had gotten. When she glanced at her watch she was astonished to see that it was early evening and was equally surprised to find Vegeta's side of the bed empty.  
  
"Vegeta?" She went into the living room and turned on a few lamps in case the strange Saiyan was lurking in a dark corner somewhere or perhaps out on the balcony. He was nowhere to be seen. She returned to the bedroom and noticed that the bathroom door was still closed. She walked over to it and cautiously rapped one knuckle on its surface. "Vegeta? Is everything all right in there?" Her ears were straining for any hint of a response but everything was eerily quiet on the other side.  
  
Swallowing, she gripped the doorknob with a sweaty hand and turned it, not sure what to make of the fact that the door was unlocked. When she entered, she found the small room like a dark sauna and reached in beside the archway for the light switch. Blinking as the immaculate room was bathed in light her eyes fell on the corner bathtub that was full to the brim in steaming water-  
  
-And saw the hint of a spike of hair that was barely visible above the still surface.  
  
"!!OHMIGOD!!" Bulma shrieked. She sprinted across the room and grabbed a handful of that wet hair and pulled as hard as she could. The water exploded in reaction, spilling everywhere and before she realized it, she was pulled in the tub and lying across Vegeta's lap. The Saiyan was blinking at her, pulling dark hair out of his eyes and trying to come to grips with what had just happened.  
  
Bulma pushed herself away from him and sat up in the water, her soaked clothes hanging off of her as she regarded the stunned Saiyan. Her shock quickly turned to anger. "You idiot! I thought that you had drowned!"  
  
He rubbed his head with a grimace and she was surprised at the way his dark brown hair lied in loose tangles around his shoulders when it was wet. "You damn near pulled my scalp loose," he grumbled, border-lined between anger and amusement. The water had made Bulma's light blue shirt transparent and he could make out her nipples quite clearly.  
  
Following his eyes, she looked down and quickly folded her arms across her chest as she began to climb out of the tub and look for a towel. "What the hell were you doing under the water anyway?" she asked peevishly, looking around the bathroom. The floor was soaked with suds and water and she didn't look forward to calling for maid service to clean up the mess. She looked back to him for an answer.  
  
He shrugged. "I was meditating."  
  
"In the water?"  
  
"The sensation is similar to a Regeneration Tank. I can only hold my breath for a half-hour at a time but the effect is...calming," he admitted to her, watching as she toweled herself dry while still in her wet clothes.  
  
"I thought that you had-had-" She couldn't bring herself to say the words out loud.  
  
"Those days are over. We will not speak of them again," he said brusquely.  
  
Bulma smiled and the last remnants of tension drained from her small form at what he had told her. He was many things but he was also a man of his word. She no longer had to worry about him in that respect any longer. "I'm going to call up room service to clean up this mess. Are you hungry?"  
  
His look of exasperation at the innocuous question was answer enough and she squished out of the room in her wet socks and went to the phone to begin the first of calls to the front desk. Vegeta lounged in the bathtub for awhile longer as he listened to the muted sounds of Bulma's voice in the next room. When the woman wasn't using those strident pitches she had quite a melodious tone to her speech that was actually quite pleasing to the ear. Cocking his head, he concentrated on her words and couldn't understand why he wasn't annoyed at her presence. The worst of the V'Nhar had finally passed and he could recover on his own now that the fever had broken. He no longer needed her or the comforts that her wealth offered. But...lounging back in the heated water he discovered just how much he had missed the trappings of physical luxury in his two weeks in the wild. He was a prince and meant for grander things then hunting for a meal or bathing in a river. This style of opulence suited him and he would be an idiot to forsake it so quickly.  
  
"Vegeta, how do you want your steaks?" Bulma called from the bedroom.  
  
"Bloody and still kicking!" he shouted back, grinning as she haltingly tried to relate that information to the front desk in more acceptable phrasing. "And tell the servant woman to send up some more drying cloths at once!"  
  
With a barely audible growl, Bulma kicked the door to the bathroom closed so that she could continue talking without interruption. With a smile he sank back into the depths of the water, closing his eyes as the warmth enfolded him, muting his senses and allowing him to concentrate on his thoughts. In the back of his mind, Kami was there reminding him, 'You care for this woman.'  
  
For the first time, he dared to admit to himself;  
  
Yes. Yes, I believe I do.  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Fifteen: The last of any lingering threat gone at last, Bulma and Vegeta begin the semblance of a 'normal' relationship. Yep! This time, folks, you can pucker up for real. :) 


	15. The Reward for Honesty

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Fifteen - The Reward for Honesty  
  
  
For the next several days the pair went through the motions of friendship without any of the trappings that might be construed as something more personal. Conversations were brief and succinct and the subject matter deliberately vague. Bulma coped with Vegeta's moodiness without quarrel, perhaps sensing something that still was not quite right with the Saiyan. Aside from several thousand push-ups after breakfast he showed no interest in resuming his usual self-destructive training regimen. That alone spoke volumes to the younger woman who was becoming quite adept at reading his terse features and body language for clues as to what he was thinking. Each day he spent the majority of his time just sitting out on the balcony railing watching the never-ending pace of the Capital. She made up excuses to go out and visit him just to catch a glimpse of his eyes. The rest of his system was rebounding quickly and that healthy flush of color to his dark skin had finally returned but it was his eyes that troubled her now. Whenever he glanced at her she could only see sorrow in those black depths and very little else.  
  
This time, she came out onto the balcony carrying a glass of lemonade for him even though he hadn't asked for it. He recognized the ruse as much as she did but he didn't bother to discourage it. The part of him that was royalty always appreciated being waited on and he extended his hand for the drink even before she offered it.  
  
"You're welcome," she said crisply as he drained the glass and handed it back without a word.  
  
He arched a heavy brow at the sarcasm and then looked away and resumed his vigil over the city. Her heart always rose to her throat at the precarious way he sat on the railing with one leg hanging over the far side and his arms crossed as he rested his back against the wall of the building. Damned if he didn't comfortable in that position but it made her dizzy to look at him.  
  
She sat down at the settee and studied him for a short time before attempting, "I imagine now that things are returning to normal you'll go back to your training."  
  
"Fuck my training."  
  
Bulma almost fell out of her chair. "What?"  
  
He swung his head around to glare at her. "You heard me."  
  
"Vegeta, training is your entire life!"  
  
"Where has it gotten me?" he asked her. His voice was level, deceptively calm; it was apparent in his manner that he had spent the majority of his time out here thinking of precisely what he was now telling her. "It's responsible for my height, for my disposition and for my failure. It hasn't helped me; it's just the exact opposite." He looked away and said in a softer voice, "I need to rethink my strategy on this."  
  
"Is there anything that I can do?" she asked sincerely but she knew what the answer would be, 'Just leave me the hell alone' he would bark at her and the two would retreat to opposite sides of the suite until the next terse exchange.  
  
This time, however, he lowered his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth to say something and closed it again, swallowing with difficulty. He ended up shaking his head to her question and went back to watching the city in silence.  
  
The moment of civility between them was over. Recognizing the hint, Bulma left the suite to go shopping as she did most of the days when she wasn't on her laptop. It got her mind off of the events of the last few weeks and she was glad that the worst appeared to be over. Now there was just the task of restoring Vegeta's battered self-esteem and she was uncertain of the way to go about that. Whenever Yamcha had an attack of conscience, finding a diversion was usually an easy way to aid in repairing it. Vegeta was many things, but he was also a virile male. She figured she knew of a way to get his mind off of his brooding.  
  
That evening after supper, Bulma left the room and returned shortly after wearing a robe. Vegeta had settled down on the sofa and was watching the news, the volume turned down so low that she could barely make out what the news anchor was saying. She threw something in his lap.  
  
Annoyed, he picked it up and discovered it was an article of clothing similar to his shorts but more revealing. "What's this?" he asked without much interest.  
  
"Swimming trunks. I reserved the pool just for us for an hour."  
  
He threw them aside. "Forget it."  
  
"If you wear yours, I'll wear mine," she said and pulled open her robe. The expression on Vegeta's face never wavered but a muscle began to clench and unclench along his jaw line as he stared at her with obvious interest. Bulma had deliberately chosen a bikini ensemble that left virtually nothing to the imagination. The sheer fabric was a dark blue that perfectly contrasted her pale skin and had a designer cut that was definitely not bought off of the rack. The bikini top molded to her plump breasts like a second skin and the high cut thong accentuated her well-rounded hips to perfection. "Well?" she asked as he continued his inspection for what was turning into a second minute. When she finally closed the robe he blinked like a man coming out of a spell and she had to submerge a gratified smile of accomplishment even before he gave her his answer.  
  
A half-hour later the pair were swimming laps in the deserted pool area. Bulma was no fool to actually believe that the Saiyan had relented just because she had asked him to despite the use of her visual blackmail, although it had certainly helped to speed up the decision making process. There was a possibility that he felt indebted to her for her care and even a little grateful, if such emotions were possible for him. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was here right now because he wanted to be. It wouldn't have mattered if she had been nude beneath the robe if he had made his mind up not to participate. When it came to wills, she ran a distant second. Despite her satisfaction she didn't allow herself to gloat over the victory; things were a stalemate between them, at best.  
  
When she had finished her laps she left the pool and began to towel herself off and rather than take advantage of the solitude, he decided it was time to leave. She didn't nag him as he easily hoisted himself out of the water, taking the towel she offered. As she watched him dry off she was amused by the way his thick hair fluffed back erect after he had toweled out the excess moisture. He didn't look like himself without that crown of unruly spikes surrounding his head, adding to his haunting good looks.  
  
He caught her staring at him and the muscles across his chest immediately tightened with tension. "What're you looking at?" he asked defensively.  
  
"You. You're sexy as hell, do you know that?" she said, her smile widening when she caught sight of an embarrassed flush cross his face before he self-consciously looked away. "Not used to receiving compliments, are you tough guy? Get used to it. You have a fantastic body, a handsome face-"  
  
"-That's enough, woman-"  
  
"-And that voice! I think your voice is the most striking thing about you, it's like velvet-"  
  
"Enough!" he snapped, on the edge of serious anger.  
  
Bulma was unfazed by the hostility, knowing instinctively that it was just a bluff to avoid revealing true emotions from her. It had worked before but now she saw through that façade thanks to their familiarity and no longer felt threatened by its presence. He was a creature of great passion. She knew of the anger but had caught only a glimpse of the other, it was one she wanted to see more of. "I don't imagine that your missions allowed for any steady dating, Vegeta. Did you ever have anyone special that you cared about?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I find that a little hard to believe."  
  
"Believe whatever you want. It's true."  
  
Her eyes softened. "Not even one person? Someone you traveled with, perhaps?"  
  
"I was always in Nappa and Radditz's shadows where the females were concerned," he admitted after a long pause. He felt exposed standing in this large, humid area practically nude and fielding this woman's invasive questions. "Sometimes they weren't even conscious by the time my turn came."  
  
Bulma's stomach lurched at the brutal confession. "You-you're not talking about rape-"  
  
"Oh, good gracious, no. On all of those worlds where I've massacred so many I never once took a woman without her consent. Give me a break," he said with a sneer.  
  
Cold with shock, she could only stare back at the Saiyan as she reeled with the coldly spoken words that seemed to hang in the heavy air. "Vegeta..." was all she could manage to get out.  
  
"Here comes the horror," he commented more to himself as he observed her reaction. His voice was almost a sigh. "Just who do you think you're dealing with, huh? Some warm, fuzzy alien you like to watch in those crappy television movies? You know I'm a killer. Surely you've had suspicions about what else I've done."  
  
She was backing away from him despite her efforts to regain her composure. She had initiated this conversation, it was her own curiosity at fault here and she had to see this through. "I-I just never wanted to consider the thoughts. They're just too awful."  
  
He snorted. "Welcome to my life for the last twenty years," he said in a bitter tone. Bulma caught his eyes out of habit and noted that they were distant and troubled, barely focusing on her at all as he grew lost in grim memories. "With low-brow Saiyan's like Radditz and Nappa as my role models it's small wonder I'm this way. But it was a better alternative than to remain a plaything for Frieza's perverted tastes..."  
  
Bulma looked up at him in horror but he didn't appear to notice. He was looking at the smooth surface of the pool in the low lighting, his voice almost hoarse with emotion. "I was only a child and low in power. By the time I was strong enough to protest...nothing really mattered anymore. Any innocence I possessed was beaten out of me and replaced by hate. It was easy to lose myself in it and that's exactly what I did."  
  
Silence fell over the pair as the last of his words echoed briefly in the deserted area and faded like mist. Bulma came up beside him, her prior distaste forgotten and she reached for his hand to enfold it in her own. "But you're different now, Vegeta. What happened on Namek changed you-"  
  
He gave her an irritated shake of his head and continued as if he had never heard her. "I make no excuses for my past. It's too easy to blame someone else and I won't fall back on that crutch. I enjoyed the chaos I caused while working for Frieza. I'll admit that."  
  
Vegeta swung his head around and looked into her pale, anxious face. He could feel her hands trembling around his own before he pulled it away. "I'm offering you my honesty. It's the only thing aside from my damnable pride that I've got left and you need to know who you're dealing with. I was no better then Frieza and deserved the same fate until Kami took even that away from me with his hall of mirrors."  
  
Her gaze sharpened at the reference of the Elder Namek. "You went to see Kami? When?"  
  
Vegeta abruptly snapped his mouth closed, realizing he had betrayed far too much. He suddenly turned on his heel and headed for the exit. "This water is making me itch," he grumbled, scratching one shoulder as he left the pool area, not even bothering to look back and see if she was following. Bulma remained behind and wandered over to a bench. She sat there for a very long time, staring at the water and replaying the conversation over and over in her mind. Despite all of the revelations there was only one that her mind would allow her to dwell on;  
  
"Kami?" she whispered to herself.  
  
By the time Vegeta made it back to the suite he was practically clawing at his skin in reaction to the chlorine in the pool water. He jumped into the shower frantically scrubbing himself with a washcloth to get the remnants of that stinging chemical off of his skin. He knew this would be the reaction, it had happened the first (and last) time he had ventured into the Briefs pool. Why he had relented to the woman's insistence to go for a swim escaped him. The bathing suit she had worn had been a bonus, to be sure, but it wasn't the only reason, was it?  
  
He brought his fist against the wall in exasperation knowing he should have stayed behind in the suite. He'd had a good thing going here and he had blown it to pieces with his honesty. "Shit!" he hissed. Why had he felt the need to tell her all of those things? He had ruined everything! "Shit!Shit!Sh-"  
  
"Vegeta?"  
  
He could make out her form through the frosted glass of the shower door. "When I'm done here, I'll pack up my things and leave," he told her in a low voice.  
  
On the other side of the door, Bulma gave two astonished blinks and asked in a stunned voice, "Why?"  
  
The water abruptly turned off and Vegeta slid open the door wide enough to stare at her in confusion, wondering if there had been a body switch in the pool area when his back had been turned. "Isn't that what you want?"  
  
"Hell, no! Why would I want that?"  
  
"I saw your disgust when I told you the truth. I repulse you. Why would you want me to stay?"  
  
Bulma forced herself to calm down as she observed his obvious bewilderment. As he had confessed to her, he really had very little experience where relationships were concerned. Her display of disapproval at the pool was enough for him to pack up and leave rather than bother to deal with it. She resolved that she wasn't going to let him get off the hook so easily. "You were completely honest with me, Vegeta. It's certainly more than Yamcha ever was. Do you honestly believe I would punish you for telling me the truth?"  
  
"Yes," came the expected answer.  
  
"Well, you're wrong," she corrected him. "It's quite the opposite."  
  
He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Are you finished with your shower or have you only just started?" she asked flashing him a seductive little grin. "I need to rinse off as well, you know."  
  
Vegeta was still hiding behind the shower door until her flirting began to dawn on him. The confusion left his face and became one of realization as she untied the straps to her bikini top and let the fabric fall away from her breasts. He pushed open the door, exposing his own nudity and he allowed her one appraising glance before extending his hand out to her. "By all means, woman," he told her as his voice dropped to a husky purr. "Join me."  
  
Bathe was really the last thing they did as they fondled one another under the hot spray. Vegeta relished the feel of her luscious curves under his hands, spreading soapsuds across her soft mounds and up between her ivory thighs, the contact lingering until she began to moan in pleasure. He pulled wet strands of that odd colored hair out of her face so that he could see those dazzling blue eyes of hers; an eye-color completely alien to his race. He couldn't seem to get enough of that azure regard, mesmerized by their intensity and beauty and letting himself be charmed by their bottomless depths.  
  
Her lips, wet and parted, invited his mouth and he accepted the offering without hesitation as her hands slid restlessly up and down his broad back. Her eager fingers detected a slight bump above the cleft of his buttocks and she pressed it experimentally.  
  
Releasing a shout of pain, he pushed her away and gingerly massaged his back as he glared at her. "What the hell did you do that for?"  
  
"That was your tail stub," she realized. "Let me look at it."  
  
"I'm not your personal freak show-"  
  
"Please," she insisted. He could not hold his eyes up to her imploring gaze and relented, watching her warily. Bulma could plainly see the large puckered scar at the base of his spine. To any other observer, it looked like a bullet wound but she knew that was where Yajirobi had severed his tail. It was an ugly mark on his proud flesh, the scar tissue still pink, a butchered reminder of his first visit to Earth. When she reached out to touch it he shied away from her.  
  
"It still hurts?" she asked in surprise.  
  
"It'll always hurt," he snapped, visibly forcing himself to calm down. "There are exposed nerves that will never heal. A Saiyan's tail is the most sensitive part of our body. Even with it gone, that spot is still very tender."  
  
Bulma remembered that even the tiniest amount of pressure on Gokou's tail when he was a youngster could bring him to his knees. The same had been true for his older brother, Radditz who had been an adult when he arrived on Earth years later. Being of royal blood Vegeta hadn't suffered that vulnerability but his reaction to her innocuous touch made it clear that the wound still pained him more than he had ever previously let on.  
  
"Isn't there anything that can be done?" she asked in a small voice, bothered by the thought of him coping in silence with such discomfort.  
  
"I'll have to get used to it," he told her, bewildered by her concern over his personal welfare. First the V'Nhar and now this, was there anything that didn't cause the woman to start fretting? He was content to just drop the issue and get back to the mutual fondling. "It's okay-"  
  
"No, it's NOT okay! It's terrible!" she snapped at him. "It's just more pain for you to have to deal with, Vegeta and you've endured enough in your life already. We're the same age and here you are traumatized and mutilated by what you've been through while I've lived the life of the spoiled little rich bitch. It's just not fair!"  
  
He opened his mouth, considered what he could possibly say and came up empty. She wasn't making any sense but he was trapped in this small space because she was standing between him and the sliding door and he was forced to wait her out. He decided that now was as good a time as any to ask her something that had been nagging at him ever since she had began to show an interest in him back at Capsule Corp. "Why me?"  
  
She was standing in the shower spray with her arms crossed beneath her breasts and she glanced at him, distracted from her thoughts. "What do you mean?"  
  
"That idiot boyfriend of your was resurrected as well as I was. The both of you obviously have a history together. He wouldn't have caused so much trouble if he didn't still-" he cleared his throat, "-care for you. It's become painfully clear that your parents approved of him too. Why are you here with me and not with him?"  
  
"Yamcha is no longer my type."  
  
"And egotistical, mass-murdering, psychopathic rapists now are?" he asked with little humor.  
  
"Knock it off. You're much more than that."  
  
"That a fact," he quipped, visibly unconvinced.  
  
Bulma didn't know where all of this self-loathing was coming from. Perhaps, in the background it had always been there only now it was becoming visible because of their close proximity to one another. She didn't know why that was but it wounded her that he appeared to believe the words. "I just felt your touch. You can be extremely gentle when you want to be."  
  
"I just want to get laid," he said roughly.  
  
She observed him for a moment and finally smiled. "Whether you believe it or not, there's a gentle side to you, one that hasn't been completely beaten out. That's what's attracted me to you, Vegeta."  
  
"You're an idiot." He shut off the water and made it past her out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and made a quick attempt at drying himself off before retreating into the bedroom to get dressed.  
  
"Why don't you deserve anyone to care for you, Vegeta?" she asked him as she wrapped a towel around herself. "No one should have to remain alone. Why are you trying so hard to push me away?"  
  
"I have enough on my plate without having to worry about some weak human female," he growled at her as he buttoned his shirt. Or tried to. He tore two buttons from the fabric before throwing the garment to the floor in disgust.  
  
"I can take care of myself," she assured him in a level voice. "I've been doing it for years."  
  
"Well, whoopee-fucking-do."  
  
"Dammit! We have a good thing going on here. Why are you running away?!"  
  
"Because everyone around me dies!" he shouted at her in frustration. "If it's not by my own hand then it's in battle or at the whim of some madman. I can't handle the thought of you-" His voice broke and he turned away and brought his fist down on the dresser in exasperation. In a softer voice, he told her, "I can't bear the burden of responsibilities as it is. Go back to that fool human of yours. You'll be better off."  
  
"Yamcha and I are through," she assured him in a firm voice. She attempted to reach out to him and watched as he drew distrustfully away. "You're the man I've chosen to love. You'll just have to learn to accept that."  
  
He was shaking his head. "How can I accept something I can't even understand? You're speaking about human concepts. I'm-not-human!"  
  
"You have no planet, no family, no friends," Bulma soothed in a gentle tone. "You are alone on earth with someone who cares for you. You've been given a second chance, Vegeta, let me help you adjust. Stay with me."  
  
"I've been nothing but a burden ever since I showed up," he said in a halting voice. He looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror and half-expected to see his image warp and change into a dark memory of the past. Or a blond harbinger of the future. Tearing his eyes away took some effort but he managed. "I can't repay you for any of this."  
  
"Yes, you can," she said. "All I want from you is one very small thing."  
  
"...What's that?"  
  
"Love me."  
  
"I can't tell you that, Bulma."  
  
"You don't ever have to say it as long as you can show me that you do." She let the towel around her body fall to the floor and pressed her nude body against his. As ever, he became lost in the intensity of her blue eyes and his resolve buckled under the power of her regard.  
  
"All right," he murmured and when they kissed she could taste his unshed tears of surrender. She should have been pleased that he had chosen to remain with her but Bulma felt no pride over this simple victory. There was something still troubling him, some knowledge that he didn't want to accept. She never thought she'd ever see the day when she would miss his self-assured arrogance but the day had come and gone and he still wasn't himself. She did the only thing that she could possibly do; offer him her love on an unconditional level and hope to find some way to bring him out of his depression.  
  
As they kissed, they moved towards the bed and Bulma settled down upon it, eagerly watching as he undressed. When he shed his last garment, he turned to observe her reaction, his erection jutting threateningly from its base, and his testicles swollen with desire for the alluring creature that watched his approach with breathless desire.  
  
Bulma reached for his waist and drew him close to her, her cool lips planting a wet kiss on his muscled stomach. He flinched in surprise as her other hand slid up between his thighs and paused teasingly at the sensitive spheres before gently gripping his strutted prong. "Do you have any idea how long I've been dreaming about this?" she said in a silky purr, blowing warm air across the sensitive head as her fingers squeezed and rubbed the hard shaft.  
  
"I'd ask but I'm not in the mood to talk right now," he told her, disengaging her hand and forcing her back against the bed. He suckled briefly at the cherry-tipped perfection of her firm breasts while his skilled fingers slipped greedily into the delicate furrow of her slick vaginal entrance, expertly playing in the moist folds. When he concentrated on the swollen nub of her clitoris, her hips jerked in helpless reaction. He continued his expert ministrations until she moaned her readiness and he poised above her, ready to enter her with one deft motion of his hips.  
  
Vegeta suddenly hesitated as he stared down at her, his brow furrowing in concern.  
  
"Wha-What's wrong?" Bulma asked breathlessly.  
  
"What about that device?"  
  
"Vegeta, what-"  
  
"That foul tasting thing! Don't we need that?"  
  
She dropped her head back hardly able to believe that he could be actually searching for something to worry about at a time like this when she could barely remember her own name. "I wish I'd never brought out that damned condom," she groaned.  
  
"Well?!" he asked impatiently. He would not complete the act of lovemaking without an answer from her one way or the other. She had to admire that degree of self-control even if she was resentful of being held hostage for an answer. All she wanted at that precise moment was his impressive shaft of male flesh to ease the desire between her open and waiting thighs.  
  
She reached up and touched his face. His features were fine-boned and exotic beneath his dark skin and extremely handsome. He had the most intense eyes she had ever seen and, all at once, she was reminded of the deep brown eyes of that sad, little girl in the park. A child born from a bitter and loveless union and whose mother was too ignorant to understand what a beautiful, rare treasure the child truly was. Bulma would never understand the reasoning of her decision or the suddenness in which she made it. She only smiled up at him and pulled his face in close for a deep kiss. "Don't worry about it," she whispered into his ear.  
  
He didn't press her on the issue, figuring that she knew more about the puzzling concept then he ever would. He burrowed his face into the hollow of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating, womanly scent and slowly entered her until he was buried to the hilt, listening to her whimpers of pleasure at the completed union.  
  
Fastening his mouth over her moist lips, her tongue slithered about inside his mouth, yielding to his suction and straining forward until it seemed he could almost swallow the delicious muscle. Her saliva blended with his, becoming an aphrodisiac that erased the last vestige of restraint from both of them. Her fingers kneaded the corded muscles of his flawless back as he began to move inside of her with long, powerful strokes.  
  
They had hardly begun, it seemed to him, when Bulma cried out, wrenching her lips from his as her body contorted in the throes of a powerful climax. He stared at her flushed features in amazement as he pistoned in and out of that exploding flesh, his erection frictioning the nerves that were already dancing in ecstatic orgasm, savoring the masculine power that could produce such obvious pleasure.  
  
Listening to her quick gasps of ecstasy, Vegeta forced himself to work slowly, something he had always considered senseless. In the past he'd had only one goal in mind and had satisfied himself without any regard for his partner's participatory pleasure. Now, suddenly and dramatically, his attitude was reversed and he was intent to please this lovely creature whose deliciously tight heat undulated about his thrusting shaft.  
  
Bulma ran her fingers along his perspiring shoulders as her eyes roved over his face, tracing the contours of his brow and cheeks and staring into his half-closed eyes. "Ohmigod," she panted, tracing the curve of his jaw with gentle fingertips. "If I'd known what you were like in bed I would have jumped into the shower with you on that day you crashed into the compound."  
  
"Instead, you gave me that gay pink shirt," he commented and actually chuckled over the memory. The vibration jerking his tool and causing her to shiver in pleasure at the unexpected caress of her overly sensitive flesh. Her internal muscles squeezed him lovingly, causing him to speed up his pace.  
  
She almost laughed at the memory of when he stepped out of the bathroom that day wearing the infamous 'Badman' shirt and the lime green pants. To his credit he had worn the clothes in public but only because she had been the one who had given them to him. "Vegeta, you are many things but gay is definitely NOT one of them."  
  
"Bet on it," he assured her, his voice hoarse with lust. He kissed her, a long and industrious fusing of lips and tongues, their teeth scraping lightly as they sought an even closer contact. Her full breasts rolled and quivered between them, the sensitive nipples stabbing his broad, hairless chest.  
  
His powerful arms clasped her undulating waist with a force that made her gasp. Her own belly was throbbing with the approach of another climax and he was unable to ignore the hot mauling of his spear. He sped up his pace, entering her with frantic hunches that jolted her writhing hips. He tried to delay his own orgasm but the shivering caress of her spasming vagina was just too much.  
  
With a choked cry, he gripped her writhing buttocks with both hands, his body jerking with the onslaught of a savage come that was almost painful in its intensity as his spurting tool met an answering explosion in her velvet sheath. He was barely aware of Bulma's teeth, biting almost painfully into his lower lip and her nasal whimper, almost a half-sob as her body quivered with the last tremors of pleasure from their mutual release. She let her mouth fall away as she went limp beneath him, blinking up into his face in disbelief.  
  
"My god!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking in exhaustion and satisfaction. "That was incredible!"  
  
He rolled off of her and stared at her flushed and sweat-streaked features with an odd expression on his face that seemed to resemble discouragement. "Vegeta? What's wrong?"  
  
He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. "That should only have been Saiyan foreplay," he rasped out. Letting his head fall back on the pillow, he visibly tried to rein his ragged breathing under control. "Give me a minute and we can do it again-"  
  
"You're still recovering, don't overdo it," she told him, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice. He was gearing up for an argument and she deliberately covered his mouth with her own until he calmed down. "You don't have anything to prove," she said when the kiss ended. "We'll be in this suite for awhile. There'll be plenty of time for you to show off your stamina. Right now, I just want you to conserve your strength." She knew that she would always be able to wear him down with a verbal assault and this time was no different. He laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes with a wry snort, his body language denoting more of a sulk than surrender but the end result was the same.  
  
Managing to keep her laughter in check Bulma reclaimed the disturbed sheet and blankets and pulled them up over themselves. Slowly moving up beside him she laid her head in the crook of his arm below his shoulder pleased when he didn't try to draw away from the closeness and laid one hand on his flat stomach. She wasn't sure if he had already fallen asleep and whispered, "Vegeta?"  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"Thank you," she said sincerely.  
  
He frowned in confusion. "For what?"  
  
"For being so gentle."  
  
He raised his head and examined her relaxed features for a moment as he interpreted what she was really trying to say without hurting his feelings or making him angry. For some reason he was bothered that she felt she had to be so careful with her words around him because of his unstable temper. His body relaxed against hers and he lowered his left arm to cradle her soft form. "I know that I speak without thinking," he confessed to her in a voice so low that she had to strain her hearing to make out the words. She held her breath so she would not miss one single syllable. "To be honest, I doubt that will ever change. But you'll never be hurt by my hand, Bulma. I can assure you of that at least."   
  
Smiling, she tightened her arm around his waist and settled into his warmth. Bulma figured he had finally succumbed to sleep before he grumbled out; "After all, I have to save the beatings for Kakarrot."  
  
She burst into giggles at that and when the laughter passed Bulma found that sleep was more difficult then she would have imagined. Her mind seemed unwilling to accept the very real fact of his close presence and what they had just shared. Surely they were a couple now, bonded by a union that was almost older than time but doubts continued to plague at her. Tightening her embrace around his slender waist, she could feel the low vibration of his odd snoring against her cheek. He was here. Vegeta was here. With her. It was all she had ever wanted.  
  
She was unaware of precisely when she finally succumbed to her weariness but it was early morning when she stirred awake again and realized that she was alone in the queen sized bed. She almost moaned out loud at the heart-breaking discovery. 'He's left', she thought to herself in profound sorrow. 'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised but...I wished he'd at least said good-bye before he went.'  
  
Choking back a sob, it gradually dawned on her that she could hear the low mutter of the television in the living room. Sitting up in the bed she saw the Saiyan's clothes still on the dresser and lying over the backrest of the chair. Pulling on a robe she went to investigate and found him asleep in front of the TV. He was sitting up with his arms crossed in that characteristic stance, his chin resting against his chest. Bulma began reaching out to him and quickly pulled her hand back before she disturbed him. As impossible as it seemed, he actually appeared comfortable in that odd position.  
  
She decided to leave him as he was, just relieved that her earlier rush of panic had been for naught. Returning to bed, she settled beneath the covers and chuckled in the early light of the morning at what a strange sight they must make together. The Heiress and the Alien Prince. She allowed herself to drift off, still smiling in contentment as she yielded to her dreams. For once they were light and unbothered, reflecting her happiness at this very special and rare union as she dreamt of the man that she loved.  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Sixteen: Bulma and Vegeta continue to dance around the issue of a relationship until he finally tells her of the revelations at Kami's Lookout. 


	16. The Day After

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Sixteen - The Day After  
  
  
"Good morning, lover."  
  
Vegeta jumped about a foot off of the sofa when arms encircled his neck and something moist fastened briefly on his right cheek. Fortunately the presence quickly retreated or he might have attacked in an instinctive manner with disastrous results. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he glowered at the woman leaning over the backrest of the sofa, smiling at him.  
  
"How did you sleep?" Bulma said pleasantly.  
  
Staring at her for a moment longer he looked over at the clock on the VCR and released a surprised grunt. His slanted eyes widened slightly when he saw that it was almost eight-thirty.  
  
"Now that you're awake I'll call for breakfast. Despite how you were sitting, you looked so comfortable I didn't have the heart to wake you."  
  
"Sleeping sitting up is a habit from the space pods," he told her as he got slowly to his feet.  
  
"It can't be comfortable," she remarked, watching as he briefly massaged the small of his back trying not to be too obvious about it.  
  
"I've dealt with worse," he grumbled. "I'm going to take a shower."  
  
"Want any company?" she asked in a teasing voice, briefly pulling open her robe and flashing him a glimpse of her nude body.  
  
He didn't even pass her a glance. "No," he said and left the room without another word listening to Bulma sputter in rage and embarrassment behind him.  
  
Breakfast was a silent and awkward affair and midway through the meal, Vegeta piled a plate full of sausages, bacon and donuts and retreated to his usual perch outside on the balcony. Trying to cope with her own conflicted emotions, Bulma got washed and dressed and made another attempt at conversation with the Saiyan before she left the suite.  
  
Standing for a few moments near him, she attempted, "I'm going shopping. Is there anything you need?"  
  
He took a bite out of a donut and shook his head. When it became apparent that he had fallen into one of his non-verbal lapses she crossed the distance between them and leaned in to kiss him good-bye on the cheek. His hand came up in a blur to block it and her lips touched his rough knuckles before she stepped back in shock.  
  
"What's your goddamned problem?!" she yelled at him in frustration. "I just want to give you an innocent peck on the cheek before I go? What's wrong with that?"  
  
"Woman, do not presume our coupling last night meant more than what it was," he told her, fixing her with a warning glare. "You were a passable screw. Nothing more."  
  
Baring her teeth in rage, she raised a hand to slap him but knew his reflexes would block the blow as swiftly as her innocuous kiss. "You selfish prick," she hissed and stalked out of the hotel suite, deliberately slamming the door after herself.  
  
Barely one hour later she was sitting at a vidphone booth sobbing her eyes out as she talked with her mother. "Last night he was so considerate, mother. This morning it was like talking with a stranger! It was awful!"  
  
"Bulma, dear, if we all came with owner manuals hanging around our necks our lives would be so much simpler. But sooo boring!" the blond commented with her usual exuberance. "Just be patient. This is all new for him too, remember? You obviously have his trust or he would have left this morning like you feared. Let the rest happen naturally."  
  
It was the reassurance that Bulma desperately wanted to hear. In truth, she would have preferred to converse with Chi Chi who was closer to her own age but knew that she wouldn't be able to deal with the spiteful brunette's reaction over her relationship with the moody Saiyan. She wanted support, not criticism to soothe her own nagging doubts. Unfortunately, her only other female ally was her own mother. "That's what I'm trying to do but he's such an enigma. Not what I'm used to dealing with at all," she confessed in a harried way. She closed her eyes and squeezed out tears as she wailed, "I...I don't know what I should do!"  
  
Mrs. Briefs watched as her only child struggled with her conflicted emotions. "You got too used to Yamcha always being around when you needed him. He and I used to have the exact same conversations about you," she said, using a degree of insight that was rare for her. Bulma caught her breath in mid-sob and gaped at the older woman who could only smile. "Why the surprise, dear? You and Vegeta are two sides of the same coin; you're both willful, stubborn, hot-tempered, argumentative, abusive-"  
  
"You're making me feel sooo much better," Bulma grumbled.  
  
"-And sarcastic," Mrs. Briefs finished, completely unruffled by her daughter's reaction. Her eyes were usually closed in an eternally cheerful squint but she actually opened one long enough to offer a playful wink. "You're both equally matched. Neither of you would dare to be the submissive one in this arrangement, would you? Of course not! If you want to keep Vegeta around you're going to have to back down a notch, dear."  
  
"Why me?!" Bulma wailed, making heads turn among the passersby who were within earshot. "He's in MY hotel suite, eating the food I'M buying and-"  
  
"-And he knows that," the blond cut in. "What has he got but his pride? You have wealth, friends and family to fall back on for support. He let his guard down to you last night and I imagine this morning he's as embarrassed as you are if not more so. How often do you think he's let that happened?"  
  
Bulma stammered more in surprise of her mother's logical assessment of the situation then her probing question. Vegeta had been so tender and considerate during their lovemaking, revealing a side that she would never have thought possible in the malicious Saiyan. This morning he had been back to his usual cruel self. The contrast in personalities was so complete that a question dawned inside of her:  
  
Which one was the act?  
  
"...I don't know," she said in partial response to her mother's question and there was little more that the two could find to work around that impasse. Leaving the booth, Bulma stood on the sidelines barely noticing as the mall became increasingly crowded. Not normally fond of large gatherings she chose to settle into the anonymity that the people offered and let herself move in the languid pace of the window shopper, freeing her mind to brood over Vegeta.  
  
There was so much that she didn't know about him. Of them all, Gokou seemed privy to most of the Saiyan's background but she hadn't had much of an opportunity to talk with him once the fighter had arrived and then left to start his own training. She knew the basics, of course; He was a Saiyan prince who had been forced into Frieza's employ with the other survivor's after the tyrant had destroyed their homeworld. On Namek, no one knew of the catalyst that had caused Vegeta to rebel so forcefully against the powerful alien. It had been clear during his confrontation with Zarbon that the feisty Saiyan had not been well liked. According to Krillin, the Ginyu Force had treated him as a joke and purposely taunted him.  
  
Bulma couldn't fathom the logic behind such a lack of respect. She clearly remembered the Saiyans' first arrival on Earth. Nappa had been bad enough but Vegeta's power displays had left crater scars that had inadvertently become the top tourist attraction on the entire planet. If the remaining Z Fighters had not united against him then, Earth would have been reduced to a smoldering cinder. How could anyone make light of someone as destructive as that?  
  
Her wandering eventually brought her to the children's play area in the center of the mall and she selected a seat nearby in the food court to watch kids of all ages as they scampered and played among the diminutive equipment. She noticed there was one little boy standing on the sidelines watching the other kids as they tousled but hesitant to join in. His mother was trying to coax him to go and join them but he was shaking his head.  
  
"I don't know anybody here," the boy muttered and crossed his small arms in a gesture so familiar that Bulma almost laughed out loud.  
  
"Jason, it's alright. No one's going to make fun of you here-"  
  
"!!NO!!" the boy screamed and wandered a short distance away to sulk.  
  
The young mother noticed Bulma watching them and said apologetically, "I'm sorry. The other kids tease him because he's small for his age."  
  
"You don't have to explain. He's adorable. I bet he's a handful," Bulma said, smiling sadly as she observed the youth struggle with pre-pubescent tears. His face was twisted with embarrassment and resentment as he watched the other children playing with carefree abandon.  
  
The other woman rolled her eyes dramatically. "Too darn smart for his own good! But...kids are cruel, y'know?"  
  
"I know." Bulma would have liked to add that adults had a good handle on the cruelty department too but she didn't bother. The mother offered her a brief nod and picked up her shopping bags in preparation to leave. The boy trailed along behind her, his small shoulders bunched up to his ears with self-conscious tension he shouldn't have to deal with for many more years. Again, Bulma felt that maternal flutter in her lower belly as she watched the pair exit the mall. She wanted to scoop that sad child up and tell him a story about how anger and hatred could eventually consume him but she knew he wouldn't understand the warning. In the background she could hear that enigmatic tick of her biological clock that appeared to increase in volume whenever she thought of Vegeta. For no clear reason, she went back to watching the playing children with a wistful smile on her face.  
  
  
Vegeta was sitting on the sofa frowning thoughtfully at the mess spread out on the coffee table before him when he heard the key-card being passed through the lock on the front door. "Oh shit," he grumbled to himself and automatically squared his shoulders for the screaming to come as Bulma walked through the threshold, her arms laden with shopping bags. She took one look at the scene in the living room and promptly dropped them on the floor. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she shrieked.  
  
Her laptop had been completely gutted and the parts were unceremoniously scattered across the entire table surface in an unrecognizable assortment of screws, cables and components. Vegeta appeared to be in the process of putting it back together again until her voice hit that certain pitch and he fumbled with the motherboard and dropped it with a curse.  
  
"VEGETA!?!"  
  
"I wanted to see how it worked," he said in a lame attempt of defense. His cheeks were absolutely crimson and he could barely make eye contact. "If you didn't want me touching it, you should have taken it with you."  
  
"Are you trying to say that this is MY fault?!" she snapped, picking up the empty casing that had once housed the keyboard. The computer had been a lab prototype with an immense ten-terabyte memory database that housed a satellite hook-up and a complex encryption program that hadn't been copied yet. From the look of things, Vegeta had managed to completely dissemble the system with nothing more than a pair of her toenail clippers. "You totally demolished it!"  
  
He shrugged, practically daring her to go ballistic and she pinched the bridge of her nose in a desperate effort to avoid doing just that. As if her mother was standing beside her, she could hear the blond say in her left ear; 'If you want to keep Vegeta around you're going to have to back down a notch, dear.'  
  
She took a deep breath and sat down beside him. "Can you put it back together?" she asked in a softer voice.  
  
"I was just starting when you came in screeching like a harpy."  
  
Her lips twitched for a moment before she began rummaging in her purse for her tools. "We're going to do this together."  
  
It turned out to be an insightful lesson for the both of them as they focused their attention and conversation only on the process of rebuilding the system, sitting shoulder to shoulder together on the sofa. It was a timely diversion as they both unanimously dropped the issue of the night before and focused on the task at hand. For the next three hours, Bulma explained the design and function of every part not matter how minor and let the Saiyan continue the task of fixing what he had done under her careful eye. He listened to her intently, betraying that curiosity of technology that had enabled him to memorize so many components aboard Frieza's ship and only grew frustrated when his fingers weren't as nimble as required for reattaching the finer parts. At this point, Bulma took over the task, being careful not to gloat at her skill and well aware of how closely he watched her, his face betraying a variety of emotions, chief among them a degree of awe. When they were finished, she held her breath after she inserted the battery and switched it on. Looking over her shoulder, Vegeta's face tightened with tension, knowing full well the reaction if the damned thing didn't work. He'd never hear the end of it.  
  
The LCD screen immediately blinked on and the system performed a brief internal diagnostic before informing them that all things were fine and dandy. Thank you. Completely oblivious of its earlier dismemberment. Bulma cheerfully punched the Saiyan's shoulder. "You just got lucky."  
  
Vegeta released a dry sniff and sat back, crossing his arms as he declared aloofly, "There was no doubt it would work. I could have done it all myself."  
  
"Ri-i-ight," Bulma said, straight-faced. "I think this calls for a reason to celebrate, don't you?"  
  
"Whatever," he mumbled beside her. He knew that she was just humoring him but was at a loss as to how to respond to it, he was just relieved that the crisis was over and no harm appeared to be done, particularly to the fragile laptop. In truth, he had been randomly typing on the keyboard and had tapped one of the keys too forcefully making it stick. He had taken the system apart in an effort to fix it before she had returned. So much for that idea...  
  
She walked over to her shopping bags and he watched her struggle with them before taking them into the bedroom. "What's all that?"  
  
"Mostly clothes, some shoes. Want me to model them for you?"  
  
He'd seen enough of her vests and dresses to last him a lifetime. "I'll pass."  
  
Bulma disappeared into the bedroom and he figured that he had probably offended her again and submerged a sigh. Never one for taking a hint, he began idly playing with the laptop again until he heard her come back into the room. "If you have to show me what you bought, I'll look. I just don't get the-"  
  
"Look at me now, then."  
  
Vegeta cautiously peered over his right shoulder and promptly forgot all about the stupid computer as he looked at her in surprise.  
  
Standing at the foot of the sofa, Bulma stood in a transparent black lace negligee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She tugged playfully at the fabric that clung to her body and commented, "I bought this on impulse but I wasn't sure if you'd like it. It is rather revealing, don't you think?"  
  
She stepped around beside him and lifted one slender leg to press her foot against the backrest of the sofa as she adjusted a fastener to the sheer stockings she had pulled on. Directly across from him, Vegeta could see that inviting moist slit plainly visible in the crotchless lace panties she wore.  
  
"I think-" he coughed, his voice catching at the sight of her beckoning muff. "-That I could get used to it."  
  
"Really?" she asked innocently. She pulled her leg back and rubbed her hands along her body teasingly. Vegeta was unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her breasts jutting out proudly from beneath the transparent fabric, their pink nipples stiff and inviting. She walked a short distance away from him, almost dancing as she tested the limits of the garment. "It's really quite restrictive. Not very comfortable at all..." She turned her back to him and bent over, touching her feet with impressive flexibility before straightening and returning to the bedroom. Her voice came floating back, "I think I'll take it back."  
  
"Over my dead body," Vegeta said, rising from the sofa with a grimace. He had an erection so hard it was almost painful.  
  
Bulma was laughing when he caught up to her, pleased that her little show has gotten the desired reaction. "Well, well. Obviously not a bad performance from just a...how did you put it earlier? Just a 'passable screw'?"  
  
"That might have been a bit presumptuous," he admitted as he stepped slowly to her. He kept his eyes on hers until he was close, then dropping them to her magnificent chest. With heavy fingers he tugged at the strings that held the negligée closed and let it fall around her shoulders. Cupping her breasts in his warm hands he felt their superb weight and contoured softness, and lowered his head to softly mouth one pert nipple, his tongue flicking across the sensitive nub before moving on to the other. He blew cold air over the rosy aureoles, watching them pucker into sensitive little mounds before bringing his face back up to hers.  
  
Bulma kissed him wonderingly, marveling at his gentleness, teasing his lips with her knowing tongue as she moved urgently into his arms. They rebounded against the wall and he released a grunt of pain at the hard contact.  
  
"Your back?" she asked in alarm.  
  
"Forget about it," he said, shaking it off and nuzzling her neck. Not swayed by his casual dismissal, she reached around to the small of his back and had her suspicions confirmed when he grabbed her wrist to prevent the contact. "Don't," he cautioned. "If I want a massage I'll call room service."  
  
"Vegeta, I don't want to do this if you're in pain."  
  
"It's been bothering me all along. Just because you now know about it shouldn't change anything."  
  
She pulled away from him. "But it does."  
  
"DAMMIT!"  
  
She watched his anxious frustration, guilty that she had put him into this state and now was loath to continue the act. A thought suddenly came to her, "Lie back on the bed."  
  
"I'm not tired," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm HORNY!"  
  
"Trust me, you'll like this."  
  
Grumbling curses under his breath, he did as he was told and lied awkwardly on the bed, his arms folded stiffly across his chest as he watched her join him. She straddled his legs and unzipped the fly to his pants, freeing his straining erection. Fondling the hard warmth with gentle fingers, she kept her eyes trained on his as she lowered her moist lips to the wide tip.  
  
Surprised, Vegeta raised himself on his elbows to watch more closely. He felt her soft tongue whisper along the underside of his standing tool, then a moment later it curled itself demandingly around the glistening helmet. She nibbled playfully on his erection for long pleasing moments before she smiled knowingly at him.  
  
"Is that it?" he asked in a gruff tone, clearly unimpressed.  
  
"I'm just getting warmed up," she assured him with a throaty note to her voice he had never heard her use before.  
  
She tugged his pants down around his knees and then straddled his waist, lowering her hips and slipping her juicy labial ring over the head of his shaft and tightening the hot flesh around it. Slowly, with her eyes holding his own in a possessive stare, she eased that moist heat steadily down until she engulfed him entirely.  
  
Responding to the overwhelming surge of desire that swept through his loins, Vegeta bucked his hips upward in an instinctive thrust.  
  
"NO!" Bulma cried, putting her hands flat against his chest and pushing him down against the bed. "Let me do all of the work. Try to relax."  
  
"Are you completely nuts?! How am I supposed to relax like THIS?!" he argued, struggling beneath her.  
  
She pulled his hands up to her narrow waist. "Don't move your hips, use your arms," she soothed, moving her excited flesh in a deliberate slow circling on his fully embedded shaft. "Try to keep your body as still as possible."  
  
Vegeta growled in annoyance, not sure if he liked this position. His masculinity felt threatened by the power she was currently holding over him and he didn't like surrendering control of the act to the weaker sex. He was tempted to flip her over and take over but his curiosity got the better of him and he decided to see how things turned out.  
  
Bulma lowered her tight woman-flesh up and down, exercising the powerful vaginal muscles about his throbbing rod as it slipped through the exquisite warmth. His fingers tightened around her waist, responding to her efforts and she felt him finally begin to participate, lifting her hips and sharing the effort while forcing himself to remain motionless from the waist down.   
  
Relieved by his acceptance she leaned over him, moaning as he suckled at her swaying breasts until the pleasure of her shivering flesh finally became too much. With a gasp he threw his head back against the bed, his fingers digging into her delicate flesh to slam her down on the swollen shaft again and again, faster and faster. His orgasm was beyond description with its intensity. He could feel her internal muscles flexing and rippling with her own fevered climax until he cried out from the force of the sensual assault.  
  
This time the tables were turned as Bulma slid up along side of him, watching as he stared dazedly up at the ceiling while his breathing began to slow down. "So...what do you think of that position?" she asked in a teasing purr.  
  
When he managed to find his voice, he rasped out, "I believe we can add it to our repertoire."  
  
"I figured as much," she giggled knowingly.  
  
  
That evening, she ordered the full gambit of pay-per-view movies to their suite and Vegeta grumbled about the frivolity of such a thing until the pizza deliveryman she had called earlier showed up with his arms laden in boxes. After downing his second full-sized deluxe he stopped his protests. Once the meal was over, he concentrated on mastering her laptop while she was currently held rapt by a murder mystery. He deliberately kept it arms length, almost sitting it on his knees and it was only then that she realized the Saiyan was far-sighted.  
  
"I have an old pair of my father's reading glasses in my purse, if you want them," she teased, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he bent his head back further, squinting at the screen.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," he groused. "How can I see what I was looking at before?"  
  
"Click the back button," she said, biting back the impulse to do it for him. He resented it when she jumped in to assist and he appeared content to follow her verbal advice as he plodded along at his own pace. He had little interest in the movie and only looked up when someone was getting shot or beaten senseless. There was one scene where the heroine had taken off her top and he had glanced up once and then resumed his reading, uninterested, even before the scene was over.  
  
"I thought you were a breast man," she quipped.  
  
"Yours, not hers," he said briefly.  
  
It was funny how Vegeta's compliments always came out sounding like he was doing her a favor. She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder as she concentrated on the movie. He tolerated the close contact without comment or complaint and it was then that she understood that he would never be demonstrative towards her outside of the bedroom. Their relationship was in its infancy but Bulma instinctively knew that the gruff alien would never kiss or embrace her in public. She would just have to learn to accept that.  
  
"I talked to my mother this morning. She sends her best."  
  
The issue of her parents was still a sensitive one between them and he only offered a grumbling sound in the back of his throat in acknowledgement. The fact that he didn't get angry was encouraging and she decided to test the waters. "You've mentioned your father in the past but I never hear you bring up your mother. Why is that?"  
  
"I never knew her. She died during my birth," he told her, his voice neutral.  
  
Just once, she would have liked to hear some story from the Saiyan's past that didn't have a tragic outcome. "I'm very sorry, Vegeta. I-I didn't know..."  
  
He heard the pained emotion in her voice and swiveled his head around to look at her. The grief in her face appeared genuine and he figured she would appreciate a more thorough explanation. "Saiyan births were a dangerous time for both dame and whelp. Mortality rates were high and families with more than one brat were virtually unheard of before the gestation chambers were introduced. From then on the burden of childbirth was abolished."  
  
"But you said-"  
  
He held up a hand to silence her. "-Except for royalty. The chambers could be easily sabotaged and I was too valuable as an heir to the throne to be risked to such a fate. The Elite courtesan carrying me was guarded around the clock."  
  
"She wasn't a Queen?"  
  
"The monarchy was chiefly patriarchal. The female population never rebounded from the terrific losses associated with prior childbirths. There were no women of royal blood who could assume the mantle of queen. Those of the past never survived their first pregnancy and small wonder."  
  
Bulma was appalled by the frank tone of his explanation. "Your mother-"  
  
"-I ripped myself out of her," he said matter-of-factly. "'Conceived under darkness, heralded by screams and borne in blood comes the harbinger of our enemies destruction; Prince Vegeta'. That's what was said of me until Frieza destroyed our world." He sighed and settled his troubled gaze on the television, not really seeing the movie, as he became lost in his own thoughts. He was unaware of the pale-faced woman sitting beside him as he confessed, "I can understand the drive to produce an heir but I'll never know what it's like. Now."  
  
Overcoming her shock, Bulma sharpened her gaze on his saddened features. "What do you mean?"  
  
"What do you think I mean? No Saiyan woman survived Vegetasei's destruction. My line ends here, with me."  
  
"You can still father children. Gohan-"  
  
"-Half-breed, mongrel abomination," he snarled with surprising ferocity. "That whelp should have been drowned at birth than insult his heritage with his polluted blood. You'll NEVER catch me having a mongrel for a child."  
  
Bulma slowly drew away from him, visibly upset with this revelation. "...I didn't know that you felt so strongly about it. I'm sure glad I'm on the pill..."  
  
"That makes two of us."  
  
"I suppose, once this Android threat is over you could always go search-"  
  
He was shaking his head. "I've traveled enough of this galaxy to last me a lifetime. I've made my peace long ago that I'm the last son of the House of Vegeta."  
  
The mood was getting way too dark and Bulma regretted ever bringing up the topic that had set the course of this depressing conversation. In a desperate attempt to lighten things up, she teased, "You're still a young man, Vegeta. When you're old and grey you'll be tripping all over your grand-children, you'll see."  
  
His features only tightened at her poor choice of words. He quickly looked away from her open and trusting face as he coped with his profound sorrow. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said in a wounded voice.  
  
Bulma caught a glimpse of that same haunted expression she had seen the first time they had eaten out on the balcony and he had confessed to her how lost he was. "What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
Putting the computer aside, he sat forward and put his face in his hands, trying to rein in his grief. He finally managed to get out, "No one lives forever. I keep trying to tell myself that but it just doesn't seem to help."  
  
Alarm shot through her entire body when she heard those choked words. In a voice that was a near-whisper she pressed, "Are you saying that you're going to...die?"  
  
"We all die eventually," he muttered, deliberately avoiding looking at her face. "Some just sooner than others."  
  
"Vegeta, you're not making any sense," she moaned. His misery was contagious, infecting her through her love for him and reaching the very core of her being, spreading its dark taint. "Start from the beginning."  
  
He made an attempt to leave and she gathered the fabric of his sleeve and hauled him back down. "Tell me!"  
  
Flinching at the authoritative snap to her voice, he raised his coal black eyes to her clear blue ones as he weighed his pitifully few options. The information he had gained at Kami's Lookout was crushing him with the burden and he was unable to cope with that knowledge on his own. Beside him was this willful creature that was begging him to share what had been confided to him. Bulma had a forceful nature that easily matched his own but more importantly she had far more experience in matters of the heart and that gave her a strength he could only envy. It was that strength he so desperately needed this very minute before he shattered into a thousand unsalvageable pieces.  
  
There was a dry click at the back of his throat when he swallowed. To surrender the knowledge of what he knew would give her a profound hold over him, uniting them as confidants and something more than he would ever be willing to admit. He didn't want to trust her but he was smothering under the suffocating weight of this dark destiny and had to unburden himself before it was too late for them both. At long length, he drooped his head in defeat and told her-  
  
Everything.   
  
  
Following that heartbreaking revelation, the two were inseparable in the days that followed. His words clung like a shroud to Bulma but there were no words of comfort that she could offer to the Saiyan that he was willing to accept. Her father had told her only the basics of what Piccolo had confided to him and she had been unaware of Vegeta's intention to track down the Dragonablls and make the wish to be dead again. Kami's intervention had been a timely one but it had come with a terrible price tag attached;  
  
'Eight years from now. Maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?'  
  
It was now a dark prophecy that loomed over both of their heads. As helpless as she felt, Bulma knew that it was something Vegeta was going to have to deal with in his own way at his own time. In the meantime, he continued his brooding out on the balcony, his push-ups and enjoyed their tender sessions of precious intimacy together, which was quite often. His stamina was increasing by the day and, at first, Bulma had been more than a little unsettled by her worry that he would resume his former ferocity as he had that first disastrous time. If anything, he was intent on proving his word that he would never hurt her and she couldn't keep track of how many times he pleasured her by touch and taste before he sought his own release.  
  
It was after one such session that Bulma asked him why he was taking such care in satiating her to such extremes that went so beyond his usual self-centered character. She was expecting a halting preamble that danced around the issue of love or affection and realized she should have known better when he told her, "I just don't want to be compared to HIM, that's all."  
  
She raised herself on one elbow and peered into his face. "Compared to who?" When she got no answer, she ventured, "...Yamcha?"  
  
He gave one brisk nod.  
  
Just when Bulma had thought she had the Saiyan's male competitive drive all figured out he would throw a monkey wrench into the workings and have her start again from scratch. To Vegeta, everything was a challenge to be the best, and it was apparent that matters of intimacy were no different. "There's nothing to compare to. You and Yamcha...you're like Yin and Yang, direct opposites in all extremes. He's the embodiment of light and goodness and you're-" She slapped a hand over her mouth.  
  
"-Darkness," he finished for her. "I'm evil."  
  
"I-I didn't mean for it to come out that way, Vegeta. I'm sorry-"  
  
"Why? It's what I am." His face broke out into a cold grin that chilled her and gave her an excited shiver down her back at the same time. "If you didn't like it, you wouldn't be here with me."  
  
Damned if he didn't appear unfazed by the comparison. She looked at his calm demeanor and figured from his warped point of view she had just paid him a compliment. She didn't see it that way and hastily changed the subject, "Yamcha was a...passive lover. He was sweet and kind and-"  
  
"-Boring," Vegeta interrupted, there was a disgusted sneer on his face.  
  
"I was going to say affectionate."  
  
"Shit. It sounds like you're describing a damned dog."  
  
"Do you want to hear this or not? You started it," she said in a hard voice.  
  
Vegeta rolled his eyes back to the ceiling and went quiet. Taking a deep breath she continued, "He was all of those things and we grew up together, learning each others likes and dislikes. A lot of it was by trial and error and believe me, there were a lot of errors, but-"  
  
"Just get to the damned point already! Who's better, him or me?" he snapped.  
  
Her cheeks filled with hot blood and she glared spitefully at him. She decided to stop dancing around the topic and tell him what he really wanted to hear. "Fine. Here are the facts, tough guy. Yamcha was longer, you're wider. He was gentle, you're rough. He liked to cuddle, you don't. Satisfied?"  
  
There was silence as he absorbed this information with his customary deliberation. Bulma expected anger as a response but as ever, he proved he would not be predictable, at least not in this area. "How much longer?"  
  
"...what-?"  
  
"An inch? Two? How much-"  
  
Bulma fell strengthlessly into bed and buried her face into her pillow as she murmured, "I can't believe I'm having this conversation." Her features softened when she looked over at his expectant face lying only inches from her own. She brushed back a forelock of hair hanging over his brow and kissed his forehead. "He didn't have the stamina that you do and you're not even at full strength yet. He wasn't as thorough with me either. Yamcha...didn't like giving me oral."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
He thought it was gross, she wanted to say and said instead, "He wasn't gifted with a Saiyan's talented tongue."  
  
It was the correct thing to say if Vegeta's gloating little smirk was any indication.  
  
"You would have been too much for me ten years ago," Bulma went on. "But now, I realize I was getting bored with the same old routine. You're by far the better lover of the two but that won't stop me from thinking about him."  
  
"What the hell does that mean?"  
  
"It means that Yamcha was my first. We dated close to fifteen years, longer than most marriages. It's only natural for me to draw comparisons between the two of you."  
  
"Well, don't. I don't like it."  
  
She had to betray a laugh at his discomfort. "I can't just stop it because you tell me to. First lovers are special. Don't you ever think about your first time?"  
  
Vegeta didn't say anything but Bulma saw a muscle jump in the corner of his jaw in response to her words. Misinterpreting the sign she lightly slapped him on the chest. "I don't even want to hear about it! I can well imagine what Nappa and Radditz set up for your first adolescent screw."  
  
Still silent, he reached up and shut off the light and allowed her to snuggle up close to her. Truthfully he was too lost in thought to even notice her suffocating presence beside him as he worked her words over and over in his mind with his usual tenacity. She hadn't lied to him this night and for that he was grateful but her words had inadvertently awoken ghosts he had hoped were buried long ago.  
  
'First lovers are special,' she had told him, speaking the words with a wistful innocence brought about by a pleasant recollection of a trouble-free past.   
  
He would like to tell her that not all admittance's invoked cheerful memories. Such confessions could be like boils that, when finally lanced, spilled noisome pus and pungent scents. They could lurk in the shadows of conscious thought waiting for a moment of weakness before pouncing, exposing their foul essence in full and terrifying clarity. If ever exposed to the light of day, such memories would thrash and scream and surrender to madness, taking their unfortunate host right along with them down that path of irretrievable hell.  
  
Even worse, some memories resided only in the depths of recurring nightmares, never to be shared with another living soul.  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Seventeen: Insight is given to the depths of Vegeta's dark past as Bulma begins to catch glimpses into the Saiyan's worst nightmares. 


	17. Poisoned Memories

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Seventeen - Poisoned Memories  
  
  
Bulma didn't put too much thought into Vegeta's odd habit of leaving the bed by mid-morning and moving to the couch. She well remembered his previous training schedule at Capsule Corp. that had him jogging practically before daybreak and she viewed this as a sign that his system was finally free of the alien illness at long last. Misinterpreting his restlessness, she made arrangements with the hotel manager for the gym to be open two hours earlier. At first, the Saiyan wasn't too keen on the idea, still displaying that reluctance to resume his training although he had given her no clear reason for it. He ended up relenting but not for the reasons she thought.  
  
'First lovers are special'. Damned if those four little words didn't echo in the back of his mind and rebound off of the walls he had erected, shaking loose whatever had been encrusted on their surface. He'd always had bad dreams but ever since the debilitating effects of the V'Nhar, nightmares that he hadn't considered for decades were returning with a vengeance. For some reason, Bulma's close proximity and their resultant intimacy only seemed to be making things worse. He would have liked to discuss the situation with Radditz or Nappa but once the fever had left, so had they. He was on his own again, left to suffer in silence. The story of his life.  
  
Prowling the empty gym, he viewed the equipment with a disinterested eye acutely missing the gravity simulator. Bulma and her father had made amends and they were both welcome back to Capsule Corp. but neither made the first move that would finalize the decision to return. For Vegeta, the reason not to go back was simple; he was still monumentally pissed at the old goat. Bulma's reasons were more complex and, with her usual honesty, she had confessed her fears to him late one night.  
  
"If we go back to Capsule Corp. I'll lose you to your training again, won't I?" she had asked in the darkness.  
  
At first he hadn't been willing to answer and eventually muttered out an affirmative. Hearing that, she had held onto him with an almost panicked embrace and whispered into his ear. "That's why I don't want to go back. I'm not an idiot, I know this won't last forever but until you're ready to go, I want to treasure every single minute that I can share with you, Vegeta. I love you so much."  
  
Unable to come up with a response, he feigned sleep then hoping that she would fall for the ruse and just shut the hell up. Eventually she did but not long after he had suffered the worst nightmare to date. Fortunately, she had been too exhausted by their earlier coupling to be roused by his childlike whimpers of terror.  
  
Feeling anxiety settle in between his shoulder blades he decided that exercise might help to ease the tension and added all of the weights he could find to a sturdy barbell that, if placed on its end was taller than he was. He hefted it easily with his right hand and settled on using the bulky thing for a series of one-arm dumbbell rows and shrugs. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw wide-eyed faces pressed up against the window of the locked door watching him heft the barbell with no apparent strain. Word had spread quickly among the staff of his solitary training and despite the early hour of five-thirty there was always some groupie hovering around.  
  
Going through his reps with barely any conscious effort, the Saiyan was interrupted by an urgent tapping on the glass. Some young porter who had been hanging around the last couple of mornings was giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Vegeta flipped him off and returned to his own morbid brooding.  
  
Two hours later he was considerably more relaxed with the satisfaction brought about by a good morning of weight training. He spent the remainder of the day going through the motions of his kata out on the balcony, finishing up with handstands and one-armed push-ups on the railing. Observing him from the sidelines, Bulma watched him go through his solitary motions that were a second nature to the skilled Saiyan, marveling at his alien technique and flexibility. Despite the prolonged period of inactivity under the V'Nhar he seemed to be the same outstanding physical specimen he always had been for as long as she had known him, not suffering any atrophying of the muscles. Bulma was immensely turned on from her role as spectator and after a quick supper the pair began making out on the balcony. It began as simple necking but both individuals had worked themselves into such a state of intense passion that Bulma was soon leaning over the railing as he was preparing to take her from behind, neither caring who might be watching them. She was moaning her eagerness when she caught a glimpse of light far to the left and suddenly released a squeal of excitement.  
  
"Shit. I haven't even gotten it in yet-" Vegeta was grumbling behind her.  
  
"Look! Look over there!" Bulma was pointing to the south where a vaguely transparent circular object was poised over the Capital. Fumbling with his zipper, he cast an irritated glance up and recoiled as if struck, betraying a choked gasp of fear.  
  
He was seeing the planet's full moon for the first time.  
  
"Dad told me that the Mayor had wanted a holographic generator made to display the moon phases over the city," Bulma spouted enthusiastically. "Everybody missed it sooo much after Piccolo destroyed it two years ago. I had forgotten how beautiful it was. Isn't it wonderful, Vegeta?...Vegeta?"  
  
She turned and saw that the Saiyan had retreated into the living room. He was staring down at his hands with a mixture of expectation and horror.  
  
"What-what's wrong?" she dared to ask.  
  
He looked up at her, out to the balcony and back down at himself, the tension in his muscles lessening as the reality of the situation became clear. He composed himself with obvious effort and told her, "It's nothing. I just forgot-"  
  
"-That you don't have a tail?" Bulma asked in a quiet voice as she slowly approached him. "You thought you were going to go Oozaru when you were with me, didn't you?"  
  
"It...happened once before," he confided to her as his expression changed to one of disgust.  
  
"I don't understand," she confessed.  
  
Shaking his head, he began to step away from her when she caught his arm and pulled him over to the sofa. He relented for a number of reasons; weariness from the days training, a fervent desire NOT to have her start screaming at him and, perhaps the most plausible, he needed to unburden himself of this terrible memory. Perhaps Bulma could bear listening to it, maybe not, but she deserved some degree of the same truth that she had presented to him and he knew she was the only person he would ever confide in so long as he was on Earth.  
  
"It was a rite of passage," he said at last, unable to so much as glance in her direction. "Nappa and Radditz set it up. I didn't know what those two idiots were planning, I swear it on my fathers crown."  
  
Cold dread settled in the pit of Bulma's stomach at the foreboding to the terse sentences. She knew this wasn't going to be good but Vegeta's confessions were rarer than solar eclipses and telling him to stop was not an option. "I'm listening," she assured him in a steady voice.  
  
Vegeta sighed and looked into her probing eyes with an intensity that chilled her to the bone. "I was in my first heat and my homeworld was gone. I could not turn to a skilled Saiyan concubine so Nappa and Radditz made the arrangements for me. They picked the world, the woman, right down to the time, all I had to do was show up." He drew in a shaky breath and continued, "The coupling had barely commenced when the woman pointed to the window and said, 'I was told to show that to you.' "  
  
"Show you what?" Bulma prompted when he had lapsed into troubled silence.  
  
"The planet had three moons and all were full. The room Nappa arranged was positioned exactly where the three converged together. My transformation to Oozaru was virtually instantaneous. That, combined with my first sexual experience..."  
  
Bulma went deathly pale, as the impact of what he was trying to tell her became brutally clear.  
  
"By the time I regained my senses, the woman was little more than a smear," he finished in a low voice. "I had been only thirteen years old at the time."  
  
His troubled face swam under a veil of tears as Bulma coped with what he had told her. She was only vaguely aware that she was trembling. "Oh... my... god..." she rasped out.  
  
"Nappa and Radditz treated it as a big joke. It was one of those Saiyan traditions among soldiers that nobody talked about. Radditz would do such a thing just for fun when the mood struck him. They had decades of seniority over me, I had no choice but to laugh it off." He ran a trembling hand through his thick hair. "Our talk the other night of first times brought it back for me. I just shrugged it off until I saw that hologram and we were-" He betrayed a shudder and then fell silent looking at her with troubled eyes.  
  
Bulma moved in to embrace him but the time for confessions was over and Vegeta had already betrayed far too much to her already. He could offer her no reason why something that had happened so long ago now bothered him. He only knew that this odd-haired creature was somehow to blame but he discovered that he could not fault her for it. Before he confessed more of himself, he retreated to the bedroom in hopes of at least one night of nightmare-free slumber.  
  
Bulma stayed up for a few more hours trying to watch TV but her mind was not focusing on what was displayed on the large screen. All she could think of was what Vegeta had told her over a week ago in the pool area about the ignorant nature of his traveling companions. He had offered her a bare glimpse of what his life had been like. Each small admittance betrayed a piece of his past that had served to fashion him into the calculating, methodical killer that he had been. Dear Kami, she thought, what else has he endured in his life?  
  
Retiring for the night, she got ready for bed and slid under the covers, pressing herself up close to him and observing his face. He was dreaming again, his eyes were rolling beneath the closed lids and once in awhile his body would give a reflexive twitch. She laid her forehead against his and, just before falling asleep, thought; 'Let me in. You don't have to suffer these dreams alone if you would only let me in.'  
  
And, unknown to either of them, he did.  
  
  
He squinted at the girl in annoyance when she refused to back down from his advance. She was completely unafraid of him even though the carnage of her family and friends scattered around her was full evidence of his murderous potential. She was maybe a year or two younger than his own sixteen years and Vegeta was at a complete loss as to how to deal with an emotion other than terror.  
  
"Well?" the girl challenged. "I'm alone and defenseless. Get it over with!"  
  
Crossing his arms in that usual brazen stance, the Saiyan continued to observe her as one would a particularly exotic insect. "You're not afraid of me." He couldn't seem to understand it.  
  
Holding her head high, the younger alien stated, "I face my death without fear. There are such things among my people as pride and honor. You wouldn't understand them, murderer. I'll not lower myself and beg for my life to the likes of you."  
  
Vegeta's face flushed with barely restrained rage and he pointed his index and middle fingers at the girl who didn't even flinch at the gesture. "I know what pride and honor is, bitch."  
  
"And you prove it by slaughtering an innocent unarmed people?" She spat down at the ground beside his feet. "You have no comprehension of what you've done to us."  
  
Vegeta's fingers had begun glowing slightly and he abruptly dropped his hand to his side. "My world was destroyed," he admitted. "My people were killed."  
  
"It looks like the explosion missed one of you," the girl sneered.  
  
"I was given to the tyrant responsible for the act."  
  
"So, you're a slave?" the female's dark brown face softened a bit.  
  
Vegeta stiffened at the accusation. "No."  
  
"You stay with him willingly?"  
  
"...No."  
  
She frowned at him in confusion. "Then what else are you?"  
  
He opened his mouth to respond and faltered instead. Without another word he left her among the devastation of the village and shelved the puzzling exchange as he performed a thorough reconnaissance along the northern end of his assigned continent. As far as he could tell by eye and by his scouter, the purging had gone according to plan. After he had some time to figure out his conflicted thoughts, he returned to the village eager for another debate with the lone survivor but she had apparently moved on. Unnerved, he rejoined the cadre assigned to accompany him, commanded by Frieza's new Lieutenant; an over-eager green-skinned pretty boy by the name of Zarbon.  
  
"Any problems?" the elegant male asked pleasantly when Vegeta dropped out of the sky.  
  
Ignoring him, the Saiyan began heading for his pod when Zarbon called out, "Oi! You forgot this, monkey boy!"  
  
Growling at the deliberate insult, Vegeta whirled to confront the alien when he abruptly fumbled with something that had been thrown to him. Turning it over he saw that it was the alien girl's severed head. Her mouth was open in a silent scream and her eyes had rolled condemningly up at his own. The eye color was an odd one he had not noticed before.  
  
They were blue.  
  
"I informed Frieza of your incomplete purge," Zarbon continued in a mocking voice. "He's very disappointed in you. He's waiting in his personal chambers for a thorough briefing of your report."  
  
"I'll just bet he is," Vegeta snarled through clenched teeth and pitched the girl's head over his left shoulder as he continued his walk to the space pod.  
  
  
It was a little after four in the morning and Bulma was sitting on the couch staring absently at the television as she smoked a cigarette. She was unaware that she was no longer alone until a voice behind her grated out; "You're in my spot."  
  
Flinching in surprise, the cigarette fell from numb fingers and was snatched out of the air. Vegeta regarded it critically for a moment and then put it to his own mouth before Bulma's dumbstruck eyes. "Vegeta?!"  
  
"You humans," he shook his head. "You think you're the first and only culture to ever manufacture such crude diversions." He drew deeply on it for a moment and then handed it back. "As I said, you're sitting in my spot."   
  
Bulma smiled. It was the first time the Saiyan had seen her doing the disgusting habit and hadn't had a fit like the other Z Fighters had. Particularly Yamcha. The tension in her face eased as she said, "There's a good movie on television I've been meaning to see-"  
  
"Now?"  
  
"It won't be on again," she lied. "I don't want to miss it. Do you mind if I stay on the couch? You can join me."  
  
He shook his head. "The gym will be open soon," he said briefly and left to return to the bedroom to get changed. Behind him, Bulma snubbed out her finished smoke and immediately lit another. Her hands were shaking a bit as she struggled with the lighter and her own whirling thoughts.  
  
"It wasn't real. I just had a dream about him. It didn't really happen." she muttered to herself, but the following night it happened again.  
  
  
This was, without a doubt, their most miserable assignment to date.  
  
The world that they had been sent to 'cleanse' was a young planet, geologically speaking, still restless and hot, seething with uncontrollable volcanic activity and sulfur dioxide geysers. The lava flows ran for hundreds of kilometers, looking like glowing rivers of bloody pus, incinerating all it encountered. The erupting volcanoes belched suffocating ash and carbon dioxide into the grimy atmosphere, transforming the world into an inhospitable sauna where even the merest drop of moisture had been boiled away millennia ago. High above, hydrogen sulfide clouds were twisted into malignant shades of oranges and browns by bitter, shrieking winds that never ceased. Any features on the sparse landscape had been scrubbed clean long ago, transforming the entire planet into one gigantic, barren plain.   
  
One giant behemoth of a humanoid emerged from a curtain of wind-blown cinders dragging a body along either side of him. A thick mane of ebony hair blew back from his pronounced widows' peak and trailed along behind him like a heavy cape. His arms and legs were bare, rippling with thick warrior muscle as he moved. The rest of his body was armored with wide, flaring padding that encircled either shoulder and protectively covered his hips and groin area. To further complete the look of wrongness to the figure was a prehensile tail that encircled his thick waist like a furry belt.  
  
The male threw down the bodies with a grunt and fingered the electronic device that was fastened over his left ear and did a brief examination of his bleak surroundings through the attached eyepiece before speaking out loud; "Radditz here. I've finished my sweep of Gamma sector."  
  
There was a rough crackle of static in response before he heard a coarse voice answer back; "-most through here. Any hostiles?"  
  
"I wouldn't call them hostile by any stretch of the imagination," Radditz growled and kicked at the nearest body in frustration. The toe of his boot punctured the stomach in an explosion of blood and entrails. "I found only two."  
  
Another squeal of static. The warrior almost yanked the scouter off before he went deaf. "What was that, Nappa? You're breaking up. Say again."  
  
"-cking planet! I said, I found a party favor that'll make this bughunt worthwhile. Just wait right -" The other soldiers voice disappeared in a blaze of static before the comlink went dead. This time Radditz did pull off the device and throw it to the ground with a curse. He eyed it morosely for a few moments, his manner almost resembling a sulk before he reluctantly picked it up again. He lowered the volume and tried a different band.  
  
"Radditz to Vegeta. Come in."  
  
The response was instantaneous. "What is it now?" a terse voice said peevishly through weaker static.  
  
Hearing the irritation there, Radditz paused, considering his words carefully. All he could come up with was, "Uhhh ... how're you doing?"  
  
There was a weary grunt on the other end until that voice snapped, "Don't bother me, you moron!" The link was abruptly severed, making the huge warrior wince.  
  
"Fucking runt," he grumbled AFTER he had taken off his scouter and massaged his ringing ear.   
  
"Watch your mouth." A voice snapped from above. "Vegeta has good reason to be pissed."  
  
"You always come in defense of him," Radditz snorted, stepping aside in deference to the even larger warrior who landed beside him, carrying a wrapped bundle in his powerful arms. Fully a head taller than the other man, the Elite soldier known as Nappa leered down at his companion, his brutish features flushed with excitement. A sheen of oily sweat coated his bare pate, adding to the crazed look the man possessed at most times.  
  
"He is our Prince who, need I remind you," Nappa's grin widened even further, "Could turn you inside out with just a thought if he wanted to."  
  
Radditz shrugged off the caution. "The way he's been acting lately it wouldn't surprise me if it happened to us both."  
  
"It's Frieza's fault. He's been riding Vegeta harder than usual."  
  
Radditz snickered cruelly at the poor wording and Nappa deliberately ignored him as he looked out beyond the dust storms to the open plain. Their young Prince had been positively grim the last few weeks even before their employer, Frieza, had sent them to this godforsaken planet. They had been here for over two days expunging the world of some alien squatters before the new tenants moved in; a celestial version of pest control. It was an assignment beneath their abilities and Vegeta's moodiness only intensified the longer it took to complete the job. This should have been a simple sweep-and-purge mission but the harsh climate was working against them and the dense magnetic core of the planet was playing havoc on their scouters. Even more upsetting was the explicit order to leave the surface completely unmarred with absolutely no trace of any ki explosions. The squatters had retreated underground in a labyrinth of tunnels and caves that left the three of them no choice but to chase after them on foot.  
  
Well, that had been the plan at least. Unfortunately the warren of openings they'd found weren't large enough to accommodate either of Radditz's or Nappa's over-sized dimensions and they were forbidden to damage the surface and enlarge them. Enraged, Nappa had charged into a hole and had been stuck like a cork in a bottle for the better part of a day. That left Vegeta, who was far smaller, to hunt the passageways alone and flush the aliens to the surface where the other two could pick them off. He had been at it steadily for the last two days and was now stalking after a particularly elusive handful, his patience eroding by the minute...  
  
Radditz opened his mouth to ask his companion what he had brought when the ground gave one sickening lurch beneath them.  
  
"Uh oh," Nappa managed to get out before there was an explosion several hundred meters away that ripped a fissure into the harsh earth and tapped into a underground stream of molten lava, spewing the acrid contents into the twisting clouds. Two more explosions peppered the landscape, each one larger than before and finally, one more followed that dwarfed its predecessors with its violence. The entire planet gave one compulsive shudder with the savage force of the blast. Both warriors threw up a desperate shield of protection around themselves as steaming magma, rubble and scattered body parts rained down upon them in putrid streamers.  
  
Radditz lowered his shield and saw the complete ruination to a plain they had been forbidden to damage in any way. "Oh shit. We are screwed! Frieza's gonna have our tails for this! LITERALLY!!"  
  
"Oh, shut up!" Nappa barked at him and the younger man went silent, quaking in his boots. With deceptive calm, the bald soldier cast a shrewd glance out towards the devastation and saw a lone figure approach them, his small frame still smoldering from the energies of his release. "Vegeta!" he called.  
  
Ignoring the greeting, the figure emerged from the grimy smoke and then stopped to look around. His uniform was completely different then his companions, with a dark blue battle suit beneath his armor and orange gloves and boots. In the odd lighting of the world his flame styled hair had an auburn sheen that was not unattractive. His feral eyes possessed an ebon regard of dark cruelty and ancient hatred, devoid of compassion or sincerity. Behind him his tail lashed furiously from side to side, the short hairs erect and puffing the appendage out to twice its normal size.  
  
There was a plaintive wail from nearby where an infant had been thrown clear of one of the explosions. Following the sound, Vegeta found it lying in a shallow trench, miraculously unhurt, its small limbs flailing in distress. Without expression, the Prince brought his boot down squarely on the babe's face, shattering its skull and deliberately twisting his heel in the remains.  
  
"Fucking brat," he hissed. He stepped away and dragged his foot along the dirt to clean it of the brain matter before he joined up with the two others. "We're finished here," he announced. "That swarm was the last of them."  
  
"Oh, we're finished all right," Radditz rasped. "You knew our orders. You just signed our death-warrants!"  
  
"We were never meant to succeed in this mission," Vegeta grumbled, eyeing one of the bodies that the third-class warrior had dragged over. The race was vaguely humanoid with thick-shelled bodies and over-large hands for burrowing purposes in this harsh climate. "This world is destined to be a dumping ground for garbage, not people."  
  
"Then why all the fuss not to damage it?" Nappa asked with his usual ignorance, blinking at the infuriated looks the other two Saiyan's flashed him. "Oooh! Frieza's just looking for an excuse to punish us!"  
  
"Our entertainment value has diminished considerably, particularly mine," Vegeta told them. "If we go back now, Frieza will kill me. I've no doubt of that."  
  
"Without you, we wouldn't last an hour!" Radditz spat out, knowing full well just how many times their Prince had leapt to their defense against their employers wrath when the two soldiers fouled up an assignment (which happened quite regularly).  
  
The smaller Saiyan gave one curt nod in agreement. Nappa instantly recognized that pensive expression on his young charge's face and asked, "What's your plan, Vegeta?"  
  
"Radditz, you've mentioned a younger brother that was sent off of Vegetasei before its destruction-"  
  
"-Kakarrot, yeah," The large warrior grunted.  
  
Vegeta nodded. "I want you to track him down. The time to challenge Frieza is coming quickly and another Saiyan ally would be useful, even a weak one of third class. Understand?"  
  
Radditz faltered. "You want me to go NOW?!"  
  
Before Vegeta could snarl out an affirmative, Nappa blurted out, "Have I got a farewell present for you!" He unwrapped the bundle he had been carrying to expose a barely conscious female native. "I'll even let you have the first crack at 'er!"  
  
His rough features contorted into an expression of lust and cruelty, Radditz unfurled his tail and began to loosen the straps of his codpiece. He cast an inquiring glance at Vegeta who was eyeing the woman with mixed emotions in his dark eyes. "Do you want to break her first, my prince?"  
  
Vegeta's top lip curled into a feral sneer. "I'll pass. I've got strategizing to do," he said briefly and stalked a short distance away. Behind him Nappa and Radditz eagerly pounced on the terrified female and the harsh climate was split apart by their labored grunts and her own wails of agony.  
  
  
Bulma sat up with a scream behind her lips and cast a wide-eyed terrified look to the creature that was sharing her bed. Vegeta appeared to be unfazed by the violence of his dream, his sleeping features actually calmer then usual. There could be no doubt, now. Somehow, for some reason, a bridge had been created between their two minds that was allowing her to catch glimpses of his memory when he was asleep and his usual guards were down. Being such close companions for so long a time to the other two Saiyans, Vegeta actually dreamt of their varied perspectives, no doubt a result of some intermingled rapport. It made this vision all the more terrifying because she was seeing it from all of their different viewpoints. She had figured that his past had been brutal but, dear Kami, nothing like THIS! She had never wanted to see that he was-  
  
'-Darkness. I'm evil. If you didn't like it, you wouldn't be here with me,' he rasped into her mind and her stomach gave one sickening lurch. She got out of bed and ran to the bathroom with her hand over her mouth. She barely made it to the toilet before she vomited and dry-heaved until she saw stars. Laying her spinning head on the rim of the porcelain she barely heard Vegeta yelling at her to keep it down.  
  
  
For no good reason that Vegeta could fathom, Bulma was withdrawn and moody the following day. The Saiyan didn't question his good fortune to be spared her eternal questioning but his senses were detecting a hidden tension beneath the few clipped words that the woman offered him. Conflicted by his own feelings of irritation and confusion, he took it as an opportunity to leave the hotel and take to the air.  
  
He parted the heavy clouds above the Capital like an arrow and swiftly sped away, increasing his speed until the wind was screaming in his ears and his hair was plastered to the back of his neck. Being catered to in the hotel had been a pleasant diversion but he had missed the sensation of flight and the escape it provided him.  
  
His half-closed eyes widened suddenly. Escape? It was a poor word to use to describe what he was feeling. He wasn't running from anything. For perhaps the first time in his life he was exercising a freedom that had been too long denied him and reveling in the singular pleasure of simply being alive. Frieza was dead and no longer able to torment him. He didn't have to bear Nappa and Radditz's low-browed presence's anymore. The dark knowledge of his destiny revealed at Kami's Lookout was accepted at long last. Even if it were true and he had only a mere decade to live, he was free to make his own decisions and decide on the course of his own life up until that dreaded moment. Lingering in the background of all of these thoughts was a fair skinned beauty with sea-foamed colored hair that had helped to shoulder his burden without a price, save that of her heart.  
  
He burst through dark clouds into dazzling sunlight and extinguished his ki to experience freefall, performing a series of nimble rolls and dives. Scarcely before impact with the ground, Vegeta powered up again and blasted off, laughing maniacally.  
  
Keeping his own personal ki at a minimum, Piccolo observed the Saiyan's actions from a safe distance. He had been continuing his vigil ever since Dr. Briefs had assembled the Z Fighters and told them that Vegeta was fine and the search had just been a false alarm. Sensing the tension in the old man's form, he had lingered behind as the others scattered and waited for the truth, not assured by the information confided to him. During the days of Vegeta's delirium, the Namek hovered outside on the balcony of Bulma's hotel room, ready to intervene if the Saiyan attempted to bolt. After his recovery, the Namek retreated to the roof of a nearby building. He expected Vegeta to sense him easily for all of the hours he'd spent sitting on the railing but it was clear the alien was distracted and not fully himself. Despite the distance of his perch, Piccolo witnessed far more than he ever wanted as the closeness between Bulma and Vegeta became uncomfortably evident. Not accustomed to playing the voyeur, the Namek's own sensitive hearing betrayed him even when he kept his eyes averted and his cheeks had been a dark emerald of discomfort more times than he wanted to count. Trunks' premonition of passion between the well-matched pair had finally come true cinching their intermingled destiny but Piccolo wasn't willing to let his vigil go. Not yet...  
  
When he had just witnessed the Saiyan's plummet to earth he had been about to intervene, fearing another suicidal attempt. After all of his time of silence, Kami picked this moment to intrude on his thoughts. The elder Namek told him to stay his place and Piccolo could hardly believe it as Vegeta playfully powered up at the last possible minute and sped away, laughing out loud.  
  
"He's alright," Piccolo rumbled contentedly, his grim visage not betraying the true relief that he felt.  
  
'It's more than that,' Kami assured him with a smug tone. 'He's actually happy.'  
  
Nodding to himself, Piccolo glanced at the fading energy trail and concluded that his role of guardian was finally over. He turned his back and finally returned to Son Gokou's home to resume his training at long last. He was oblivious that another pair of eyes took note of his departure with acute relief.  
  
  
Despite the unease that she now felt towards the Saiyan, Bulma found herself standing out on the balcony as the hour rolled to around midnight and he still hadn't returned from wherever he had gone. A part of her worried that perhaps the rapport had been twofold and he had been as privy to her thoughts as she appeared to be to his own. After a thorough self-searching, she concluded that there was nothing in her mind that could possibly offend him and his actions before leaving had betrayed no such knowledge. That earlier resolve of sticking to the Saiyan regardless of his past was flagging under the knowledge of her new insight. Both Yamcha and her father had called Vegeta a butcher and that was exactly what he was. But...  
  
'Bulma, I am...lost.'  
  
She shivered and blamed it on the cool night air. Casting an urgent look skywards, the stars were blurred by her remorseful tears. In her mind's eye she watched Vegeta crush a defenseless baby's skull, his face twisted into a rictus of rage and hate. There was none of the fading of details that usually came with reliving a dream and she could tell the distinction between the two. This was the reality, this had actually happened. This was the true legacy of the Saiyan's dark past; endless violence and merciless death.  
  
'I'll end up either driving you away or killing you. That's how this game is played. That's how it's always been,' he assured her.  
  
"No...NO!" Bulma wailed, choking back a sob. "That was before Namek, before he died and was brought back. He's different now!"  
  
'I get up in the morning-I leave the simulator-Everywhere I turn- YOU'RE THERE! Now I can't even sleep at night without you intruding in my dreams. You. Are. Driving. Me. CRAZY!'  
  
A sob was caught in her throat as her photographic mind reminded her of that confession. She played it over and over, reliving their hesitant first kiss in the drafting room that had been the harbinger of their relationship. It was the first sign of his attraction to her, the first hint of a potential tenderness that had been all but beaten out of him since he had been a small boy. He had confided to her first, making the first attempt at trust. How could she possibly turn her back on him now with everything that she knew?  
  
'I know that I speak without thinking,' he whispered to her in a soft voice. 'To be honest, I doubt that will ever change. But you'll never be hurt by my hand, Bulma. I can assure you of that at least.'   
  
She reveled in those rare words and straightened her spine. In a stronger voice she concluded, "I'm staying right here. I love him."  
  
"Prove it, woman," a gruff voice said from behind her. A strong hand took her arm and spun her around and she had barely recovered from her shock at Vegeta's abrupt arrival when he crushed his mouth against hers.  
  
For a moment, Bulma surrendered to the passionate kiss but she soon broke it off and pushed him away at arm's length. "We have to talk, Vegeta."  
  
"Later," he said, pulling her towards him.  
  
She broke the hold and retreated into the living room. After a moment of grappling with his temper he followed after her, yelling, "What's the goddamned problem NOW?!"  
  
Turning to face him, Bulma cleared her mind and projected her thoughts: 'Vegeta, do you hear me?'  
  
He betrayed no hint that her mind had made a successful jump to his own. Thinking he was getting the silent treatment for some unknown affront, he snapped, "Stop playing this game, woman! You've never ceased your endless babbling before, don't pick this moment to start!"  
  
"You didn't hear that?" Bulma asked hesitantly. "I tried to pass along a thought to you."  
  
He snorted. "You haven't the ki for the act."  
  
"But I've been receiving yours," she admitted in a small voice.  
  
The expression of skepticism was quickly wiped off of his face. "Not possible."  
  
"But Saiyan's are telepaths, aren't they?"  
  
"With fellow Saiyan's. Only."  
  
She was shaking her head. "When we were both sleeping, I was reliving your memories in my mind. It's happened two nights in a row."  
  
"Silly woman, you were just dreaming-"  
  
"-About a teenaged, blue-eyed, dark skinned girl on a planet you purged," Bulma said in a calm, confident voice. "She said you had no honor and asked if you were Frieza's slave. For some reason you let her live but Zarbon tracked her down and beheaded her-"  
  
She was interrupted by a strangled squawk and saw the look of outraged horror etched in the Saiyan's face. He submerged the look quickly but his eyes were blazing with emotion. "I must have told you that during the V'Nhar," he concluded but only because the thought comforted him.  
  
"Last night I saw your final mission for Frieza. It was on a volcanic world and you were hunting down aliens under the surface. When you damaged the terrain, Radditz was terrified of the consequences until you told him to track down his younger brother-"  
  
"Enough," Vegeta growled in a low cautioning voice.  
  
"He and Nappa raped a female alien." Her bottom lip trembled as she peered into Vegeta's livid face. "And you...you murdered a defenseless little baby!"  
  
Vegeta went strikingly silent in the face of such an accusation and she knew at that point as much as he did that there could be absolutely no more doubt. Somehow, in some way, she had viewed his most private, darkest memories; ones even he didn't like to consider and had thought were forever shut away.  
  
As his silence stretched on, Bulma became anxious for an answer. "How could you do something so terrible?!" she demanded.  
  
"I had my orders," was the only response that he could provide. "At least the brat died quick-"  
  
"How can you justify such an action as that?" she screamed at him, practically in his face.  
  
"There are worse fates then death for a child," Vegeta said in a low voice. "I should know..."  
  
Stopping her tirade in mid-syllable, Bulma forced herself to calm down as she examined his face. There was none of that usual cockiness or arrogance in his hardened features. There was anger, yes, perhaps even a hint of guilt in his raven-colored eyes and lingering in those somber depths was another emotion hovering near their surface that closely resembled pain. "Vegeta..." she hesitated for a moment and finally asked the question that had been bothering her for some time now, even before the revelations his memories had offered. "What did Frieza do to you? I know that he killed your people and destroyed your world. I know that he kept you against your will but I sensed something more in your memories; You were scared of him. Did he beat you?"  
  
"A Saiyan thrives on beatings," he confided to her reluctantly. "It only made me stronger. Frieza knew that."  
  
"Starvation, then?" she pressed, knowing of a Saiyan's voracious appetite and his own reaction when he had let himself get run down.  
  
"He tried," came the only answer.  
  
"What was it?" she asked but he was only shaking his head. "Please, I need to know."  
  
"It's none of your business," he growled, innerved by her constant questions and his own conflicted feelings. "You wouldn't understand-"  
  
"-What's to understand? All I know of you now is that you're a baby-killer, a butcher of worlds! Tell me what it was that twisted you into becoming such an awful thing, Vegeta! What did Frieza do to you? I DESERVE to KNOW!"  
  
"You don't deserve to know ANYTHING!" he hollered back.  
  
Hands on her hips in the ultimate pose of the antagonist, Bulma resolved to win this argument. "There's nothing more you can tell me that can be worse than what I've seen in your mind, Vegeta! I'm past being repulsed. What I saw in you're dreams... you're no better than Frieza!"  
  
"Do not EVER compare me to that CREATURE!" he roared. "We are NOTHING alike!"  
  
"You both killed without remorse! I saw you murder that little baby, there was no compassion in your eyes. What did Frieza do to you that could be worse than what YOU did to that child?"  
  
Clearing the distance between them in three quick strides, Vegeta gripped her by the arms to steady her and glared into her wide eyes. "You really think you've witnessed real horror?" he grated from between clenched teeth. It was not quite a question.  
  
Bulma visibly faltered. "Wha-What are you going to do?"  
  
"I'm going to answer your question." He laid his forehead against hers and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, ignoring her cry of violation as his mind clawed it's way into her own. With little tact, he shoved aside her nonessential thoughts and forced his own memory directly into her mind's eye.   
  
  
In his bed, the little Saiyan prince struggled with sleep as he usually did, curling into a tight compact ball as he coped with his nightmares. He pulled the filthy blankets closer around his trembling frame and was brutally awakened when a hand gripped onto his hair and yanked him forcibly out of the bed.  
  
"Wake up, Chibi no Ouji," a rough voice growled above him, shaking him by the hair like a rag.  
  
"Nappa!" Vegeta screamed, instinctively calling for his burly bodyguard. The bed beside his was empty as if it had never been slept in. He caught sight of his reflection in a broken mirror that hung on the wall of the bunker that the last Saiyan's had been exiled to stay in after Vegetasei's destruction. Revealed in the shattered surface was a boy, maybe nine or ten years old and terrified beyond all reason.  
  
He struggled fiercely under the grip that held him several feet off of the floor until a knotted fist drew back and plowed into his face, breaking his nose and making him see stars. He slumped under the giant's hold semi-conscious and helpless to protest even though he knew where he was being taken.   
  
Carried out of the bunker and through the compound towards the main base, he could plainly hear snickers of amusement at his expense from the soldiers that were milling around, watching the show. No one came to his aid even though they knew what was about to happen.  
  
'Laugh now, you bastards', he vowed, committing every single leering face to memory. 'Someday I'll kill you all and I'll be laughing when I do it.'  
  
The large warrior gave him another rough shake. He was a grotesque, pink spiked behemoth that went by the name of Dodoria. "Snap out of it, twerp. Frieza wants you conscious this time."  
  
"!!NAPPA!!" Vegeta screeched so hard that his throat hurt. All he heard was laughter from the gathering soldiers in the compound.  
  
"He was sent away with that longhaired monkey boy of his," Dodoria scoffed. "You're on your own, runt."  
  
As he was taken through the doors to Frieza's personal chambers, his tail instinctively drew up between his legs and he fought to submerge a whimper of fear. He had taken to sleeping in his Saiyan armor but he knew it wasn't going to help him. He started screaming when he caught sight of Frieza eagerly waiting for him, nude and hugely engorged-  
  
  
Bulma shrieked at the top of her lungs, immediately breaking the rapport and she thrashed out of his hold and stumbled backwards, falling on her behind. Wrapping her trembling arms around her body, she rocked back and forth as she was lost to great braying sobs brought about by reliving a nightmare that wasn't even hers. She was utterly inconsolable, practically in shock from the brutal force of the terrible vision and it seemed to take forever before the import of the memories faded and she became once more aware of her surroundings.  
  
Vegeta was hunkered down beside her. There was none of that I-told-you-so smugness on his tense features as he watched her very carefully. His intention had been to scare her and it had worked too well. She was in hysterics and had not even witnessed the real horror of Frieza's depravity. His slanted eyes were shadowed in barely hidden grief at her reaction. He had killed people for knowing less of what had been done to him but he could not raise a finger against this frail creature. When it appeared that she was recovering from the brutal rapport he finally said, "Beatings couldn't break me. Neither could starvation. Frieza discovered the one thing that a Saiyan's pride could never tolerate and he used it as my leash." He lowered his voice and confessed to her, "Complete degradation. It became a brutal deterrent against insubordination. I learned that the hard way."  
  
Her face streaked with tears, Bulma's voice hitched unsteadily as she wailed, "Oh! Veh-Vegeta! I'm so SORRY! I-I dih-didn't know!" she extended her arms towards him, imploring him to share the profound sorrow she felt for him. He was actually debating to go to her when a familiar ki intruded on his senses and he got quickly to his feet even before the voice called out:  
  
"I don't know what you've done to her but it ends now, Saiyan."  
  
Yamcha was standing in the doorway of the balcony, with his hands clenched at his sides casting a clear glare of challenge at the smaller alien. "This time it's between you and me."  
  
Marveling at the human's attributes of piss-poor timing and for being overly melodramatic, Vegeta scowled in annoyance at the younger fighter. This was no time for a display of machismo from either of them as Bulma sat helplessly on the living room floor, still in partial shock from what her fragile consciousness had been exposed to and looking at Yamcha like she was witnessing a dream. The Saiyan glanced at her in a strikingly protective manner and then turned on the other fighter with only hate in his black eyes.  
  
"This time you're going to die," Vegeta assured him in a level voice.  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Eighteen: The unresolved confrontation that was interrupted way back in Chapter Three finally gets settled. Yamcha and Vegeta exchange blows and words. 


	18. Unfinished Business

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Eighteen - Unfinished Business  
  
  
Strong arms cradled Bulma's shuddering form and carried her gently into the bedroom, settling her upon the soft surface of the bed. Concerned fingers brushed the hair away from her face and when that affectionate touch grazed her cheek she cried out in pain.  
  
"No-don't. My nose, it feels broken," she hitched in a faltering voice, still struggling with tears.  
  
There was a sharp intake of breath. "What did that bastard do you?" a male voice rasped, sounding different to her grief-stricken mind.  
  
"I-who? Wh-where's Vegeta?"  
  
"Get some rest," that male presence soothed, covering her trembling form with the bedspread.  
  
"No! No...I have to talk to him! I have to say I-I-"  
  
"Sleep, Bulma."  
  
Clutching at the heavy fabric with panicked fingers, Bulma surrendered to her shock and curled into a tight, little ball. Almost immediately she became lost in dreams that were no longer her own; A place where long-maned giants patrolled barren lands heavy with cinder-strewn winds. Where women screamed in agony and violation and orphaned babes wailed for parents that were reduced to cadavers.  
  
In the background of all of that, barely audible, was the sound of a little boy's voice begging for mercy.  
  
  
There was practically a cloud of smoke hovering around Yamcha's head when he emerged from the hallway and faced the lone Saiyan in the living room. Vegeta barely heard the young humans' return, too lost in thought to pay much concern to his presence. He was still brooding over Bulma's over-reaction to his deliberate rapport. He hadn't even shown her the REAL disturbing parts and she had freaked out, becoming utterly inconsolable. To make the situation even worse, she had actually suffered psychic shock from the brief contact; feeling the injuries the memory version of himself had suffered under Dodoria. Obviously the fool woman could handle playing the observer in his memories but not an actual participant.  
  
He should have felt a gloating satisfaction for putting her in her place as forcibly as he had. As little as two months ago he would have laughed at her discomfiture. Now, he discovered her plaintive sobs obliterated all of his enjoyment. Bulma was crying for him. For what had been done to him. Vegeta had actually been frozen in place watching as her former lover carried her away, not objecting. Not able to object. He had broken his promise to her.   
  
'I hurt her,' he thought with genuine remorse and was at a loss as to how to deal with it. Movement out of the corner of his eye made him shelve his indecision and get back to the real problem at hand. Yamcha was brilliantly pissed, far beyond anything the Saiyan had yet to see from him and required a close watch.  
  
Keeping to the far side of the room, Yamcha paced the room slowly as he considered his strategy. Vegeta was notorious for becoming impulsive in a battle when his emotions slipped their leash. He didn't want to make that same mistake. "I actually went to the mat for you."  
  
"That a fact."  
  
"I went to Gokou and the others and came out looking like a fool in order to make things right. It just turns out that I had you pegged right from day one, after all."  
  
Vegeta narrowed his eyes. "Human, you don't know anything about me. Don't strain your pathetic mind in the effort to try."  
  
"I always knew you'd eventually hurt Bulma and I was right." He raised his voice in an anguished shout, "You broke her nose, you little prick!"  
  
Rather than try to explain the eccentricities involved with erecting mental rapport's and their potential side effects, Vegeta dismissed her injury with, "It's NOT broken. It'll pass."  
  
Yamcha just assumed that the Saiyan was shrugging off an assault with his customary arrogance. "I'd call the cops if there was anything they could do with you. I'm glad that Piccolo finally gave up his vigil. There's not going to be any bleeding hearts in this fight, Saiyan. I'm going to beat you within an inch of your miserable life-"  
  
Unable to contain himself any longer, Vegeta threw his head back and laughed. "You? A Saibaman with a power rating of 1500 and an I.Q. of less than fifty kicked your sorry ass!" he broke off snickering and shaking his head at the same time. "You weren't worthy of my fighting you then. That hasn't changed now."  
  
Yamcha betrayed a stunned blink. "Since when have you ever turned down a fight? You've become a pussy, Vegeta!"  
  
"Ah, well... You are what you eat," Vegeta purred, his smirk turning into a deliberate sneer. "From what I hear, you wouldn't understand that."  
  
The human's flush of anger deepened into a more purple hue of indignation over the intentional slight. Stammering out a response, Vegeta cut in with, "I had a good laugh listening to the woman's tales of your efforts. Some athlete. The only gold you deserve is at the Lake Flaccid Olympics."  
  
"!!GODDAMN YOU!!" Yamcha roared and launched himself over the chesterfield at the mocking Saiyan. Vegeta stepped quickly aside, his arms still crossed but the contact had been very close. Even the younger fighter noticed that, despite his great rage. He allowed himself a small smile of realization. "It's been awhile since you've trained, I can see that now. Why has Piccolo been acting so protective of you lately? Why was Dr. Briefs having the rest of us searching for you?"  
  
He wasn't really expecting any kind of an acknowledgement to his questions. All of the good humor abruptly went out of the Saiyan and his former resentment returned with a vengeance, making his dark eyes blaze with hatred. It was answer enough.  
  
"You were hurt," Yamcha concluded, his posture assuming its former confidence with each word that he spoke. "Maybe even worse than the gravity simulator explosion. Whatever happened I can see the differences in you. You've lost a lot of muscle-tone; you're out of practice. You wouldn't have stayed in this hotel for so long a time without your precious training if you had been capable of doing it."  
  
"I'm just enjoying a well-deserved vacation screwing your former lover," Vegeta stated in an off-hand manner. "The woman is quite skilled in her technique. I credit it to a good book. Not to you."  
  
Yamcha wasn't going to be baited this time. "I think you're scared of me."  
  
"Of YOU?! You must be insane!"  
  
"You know that this fight will be a lot closer than you want it to be. We have unfinished business, you and I."  
  
"That we do," Vegeta admitted.  
  
"Then let's get on with it."  
  
"Here?"  
  
"Of course not! You know damned well where I'm talking about, Saiyan."  
  
Actually, Vegeta had to think for a minute before he realized what the idiot human was talking about. He allowed himself one brief nod. "Fine. Let's get this over with."  
  
Eagerly vaulting over the railing, Yamcha took to the air and waited for the brash alien to follow. To his surprise, Vegeta visibly hesitated, staring off in the direction of the bedroom where Bulma was resting.  
  
"If you go near her again, I'll kill you," Yamcha cautioned, his voice dripping with malice.  
  
Snapping his head around, the Saiyan looked at him directly, his face guarded and betraying absolutely no emotion. The younger fighter recognized the neutral expression at once; it meant that Vegeta had finally accepted him as a threat and was not going to betray anymore valuable facial cues to aid in his defense. Wordlessly, he joined the human and the pair left the Western Capital to travel to their chosen destination.  
  
  
Todd the tour guide looked at his watch for perhaps the fifth time in an hour not giving a damn if he was being obvious about it or not. This was his last tour of the day and he was eager to knock off early if he could, get home and plan his strategy on how to get to second base with his frigid girlfriend tonight. He was escorting the usual entourage of tourists; bored out-of-towners, wheezing geezers and the usual Asian shutterbugs. All during the tour, a young Japanese couple kept looking at him and muttering the word, "Bakayaro". He had finally come to the conclusion that it was NOT meant as a compliment.  
  
"Awright, everyone gather over here," he instructed the group, motioning them over to the railing that encircled the entire area. "Yes, just like that. Now, if you'll look off to the east you'll see the crater that was created during the climax of the battle against the invaders. At this point, the smaller alien took over the combat when her companion was killed and the circumference of the blast she created is almost half of a mile across."  
  
There were appreciative "Ohs" and "Ahs" from the crowd and the usual "Baka" from the Japanese couple in the back. Fixing them with an irritated look, Todd led the tourists over to the large exhibit where all of the Earth's Special Forces members present during the Saiyan conflict were depicted in life-size replicas. Krillin would have been ecstatic to see his double was a foot taller.  
  
"At the beginning of the battle, the Earth lost several of its greatest warriors. Starting with baseball phenom, Yamcha and quickly followed by Tien and his life-partner Chiaotzu." On the other side of the walkway, a huge lifelike statue of Nappa was poised over the cringing spectators. His mouth was open in a fearsome expression and whenever someone stepped too close to the sensor at the base, his voice came roaring out: "I'm gonna GET'CHA!" Todd always got a chuckle when some little toddler wet his pants in reaction.  
  
"The alien known only as Nappa was responsible for the loss of East City, the Defensive Naval Force and many of the ZTV staff. He was initially considered the more powerful of the two until his inexplicable demise." At this point, Todd paused and considered the smaller replica positioned beside its companion.  
  
Standing on its base, the statue was almost eye-level with the majority of the crowd, clad in a distinctive blue and white ensemble and standing in an arms crossed posture that appeared both arrogant and condescending. No one had been able to supply the company responsible for the replicas with a decent photograph of Vegeta. It was for this reason that he was depicted as a female brunette with a generous bosom and beautiful eyes. Todd thought that she was an absolute hottie and entertained himself with some pretty raunchy daydreams every chance he got. "In terms of sheer power, the female invader was virtually without equal and may have been successful in her mission to destroy the earth if not for our mightiest hero-"  
  
The guide dramatically swept his arm to the figure standing on the raised dais at the end of the path. The larger-than-life relief stood with his legs wide apart and his hands loosely clenched at his sides. He was staring up at the azure sky as if expecting another invasion and prepared to face it bravely.  
  
"-YAJIROBI!" Todd cried enthusiastically. As they always did at this part of the tour, the cameras began clicking and flashing as fast as fingers could press the buttons to get a decent shot of the pudgy samurai. "If not for his expert swordmanship and subterfuge skills, our beautiful planet might have been lost for-"   
  
There was a muted explosion quite close-by and heads turned in time to watch a surviving rock formation crumble to the ground in a great pall of smoke and dust.  
  
"What the hell was THAT?!" Todd yelled to no one in particular. This was followed buy a responsive outburst of, "Nani?" from the Japanese couple.  
  
"Oh, kewl," remarked one punk who had several miniature barbells shoved through his nose and both eyebrows. "Dude, why didn't you say that there was gonna be a reenactment of the battle?"  
  
"This isn't any reenactment, you idiot!" Todd screamed into his face. Before he could say more, there was the screeching wail of what sounded like an approaching missile. "Incoming!" he bellowed and dove behind a replica of Piccolo who, because of a shortage of green paint, had a noticeably purple hue to his features.  
  
An object fell out of the sky, snapping off of the head of the Son Gokou statue and plowing into the replica of Nappa. Sputtering and cursing, Vegeta tried to shake off Yamcha's Wolf Fang punch as he absorbed his surroundings. When he saw Nappa's face leering into his own he had a moment of fear that he had fallen prey to the V'Nhar again and it didn't help when the figure bellowed at him: "I'm gonna GET'CHA!" Holding his breath he poked the lifeless creation curiously, feeling firm resistance.  
  
"Hnh," he grunted in relief. When he got to his feet he nearly tripped over Gokou's head and picked it up to stare resentfully into the wide eyes. As ever, the expression on the replica's face mirrored the younger Saiyan's smiling, easy-going nature to perfection. "Damn, I wish you were the real thing," Vegeta snarled. He gave the head a kick that propelled it into the next state.  
  
Yamcha landed on the well-used path, inwardly wincing that he had placed innocents in danger with a badly aimed punch. "Everybody get out of here! It isn't safe!"  
  
"No shit, Sherlock," the punk retorted but didn't waste time as he hauled ass to get out of there. He never even bothered to see if his parents were following. Keeping close to his heels, the Japanese couple had changed tunes and were now saying, "Shimatta!" over and over as they sprinted to safety.  
  
Todd peered out from behind Piccolo's poly-resin cape and saw the little guy who had single-handedly destroyed the exhibit get to his feet and glance at the statue next to him. For some reason he appear thunderstruck at the sight of the bodacious alien chick.  
  
Vegeta damn near choked on his tongue when he finally recognized who he was looking at. It was him! Rather, it was a version of himself if his father had supplied another X chromosome instead of the Y. "What the FUCK-?!" he managed to get out. The supposed replica was wearing make-up and displaying an ample cleavage above the crossed arms. With a livid curse he drew his fist back and punched the offensive statue so hard that it literally exploded.  
  
Releasing a wail of loss, Todd stared at the rubble of his dream woman and confronted the seething stranger with, "Why did you have to go and do that for? She was gorgeous!"  
  
It was definitely the wrong thing to say, he realized belatedly as the man raised his hand palm-up in his direction. The blast that followed was virtually instantaneous. Mercifully, so was the tackle that propelled him clear of the explosion that obliterated the statue he had been using for cover. Piccolo would have taken one look at the gaudy recreation of himself and called the destruction of it a necessary thing.  
  
"Aw, shee-YIT!!" Todd howled in dismay. "All of that's gonna end up coming outta my salary, d'you realize that?!"  
  
For perhaps the first and only time in his entire life, Yamcha felt the vaguest sensation of disgust that Vegeta probably grappled with every single time he laid eyes on such a pathetic specimen of earthling. It didn't stop him from throwing the idiot clear of the Saiyan's enraged fire but it didn't mean he was overly gentle, either. The luckless guide was sent rolling over to a stationary dumpster where he immediately climbed inside, burrowing for cover underneath of a layer of garbage. A stray ki blast flipped the large container completely over onto its top. It would be two days later before Todd would be pulled free, stinking to high heaven.  
  
Vegeta released a rapid-fire barrage of ki missiles that sliced through the air and had Yamcha dancing for an escape. Sliding up beside a perforated statue of Tien, he glanced at the replica's third eye and muttered an apology as he plucked it out of the double's forehead. He gripped it experimentally, testing its weight. It was larger than a ping-pong ball, smaller than a baseball and deceptively heavy. He immediately leapt to his feet and pitched it at the Saiyan as hard as he possibly could. Vegeta was expecting a retaliatory strike as he kept his senses trained on the human's personal ki signature, but he wasn't expecting a thrown projectile traveling at over 150 miles an hour. The object hit him just below the right temple in a fine spray of blood and he fell backwards over the railing, cursing the whole way to the ground.  
  
Sprinting across the pathway and gathering the energies in his fist for another Wolf Fang attack, Yamcha cautiously peered over the railing. There was no sign of the wounded Saiyan.  
  
"Oh, crap," he muttered as he jumped over the metal bar and landed lithely on the ground. He could feel eyes watching him and advanced very carefully across the terrain fully aware of who, more importantly what, he was up against. Honestly, Yamcha hadn't expected for the battle to go on this long but he wasn't knocking his good fortune. Whatever it was that had laid Vegeta down in the hotel room, it had obviously been something serious. The Saiyan was severely off of his usual game.  
  
No one was more aware of this than Vegeta himself. At the moment he was crouched beside a demolished butte watching the human walk away from his position, trying to get his breathing and his indignation under control. Whatever the damned thing was that had impacted with his face, it had done some major damage. His right eye socket was broken and the retina had become detached from the rest of his eye, rendering him blind on that side. It was déjà vu all over again and the irony of the situation was not lost on him, considering this was the precise area where he had met his first humiliating defeat not all that long ago. Gather the rest of the meat-beating losers that made up the Earth's Special Forces and they could have a good old-fashioned reunion. The only thing that could top that would be for the mongrel brat to turn Oozaru and sit on him again. The way things were going, Vegeta wasn't even going to discount the possibility.  
  
Wiping stinging sweat out of his one good eye, Vegeta acutely regretted that he had wasted so much precious energy gallivanting around the skies like some smitten teenager. He had traveled the equivalent of three circumferences around the earth hardly even aware of it; too lost in thought on matters far and beyond his usual self-centeredness. Bulma and her actions of the last week and a half had been the only things on his mind and he was paying dearly for that lapse now. It only served to justify his reasoning that such intimate attachments were a warrior's downfall.  
  
'It ends now', he brooded. 'If-WHEN I get done with this inconvenience my involvement with the woman will be over. The bitch has made me weak.'  
  
His face tightened with resolve even as his heart gave an enigmatic shudder he purposely ignored. Getting to his feet, he raised his hand in that Big Bang gesture ready to shoot the human in the back and be done with him once and for all. It would be pathetically easy. Yamcha was clear in his sight and oblivious to his presence. A brutal flashback came to mind; one where a tail was wrapped around his neck holding him off of the ground and a lightening flurry of blows pounded into his back, destroying his spine and internal organs in a span of mere seconds. Vegeta shook off the vision and lowered his hand. No, he concluded. There was no honor in such an attack.  
  
He fazed out of sight and re-materialized behind Yamcha who whirled in surprise. The human clearly saw the damage his makeshift baseball had done and betrayed a smile of accomplishment. The right side of the Saiyan's face was a mask of blood and his eye was almost swollen closed. That smug satisfaction faded when he realized he was now facing the equivalent of a wounded, rabid pit-bull that had no owner or leash in sight.   
  
Vegeta saw that look of unease on the other fighter's face and he broke out into a cold grin that was devoid of any humor. "The games end now," he said in a deceptively level voice and was a sudden blur as he propelled himself into the other man, driving them both through a pile of rubble with his momentum. All of the wind was knocked out of Yamcha from the impact and he became dimly aware of various blows that ravaged his body even before he could call up a desperate defensive. If he had the element of surprise before, that advantage was lost now as a fist plowed into his solar plexus and drove him skidding backwards into the rough dirt. He was vaguely aware of being hauled up by the front of his shirt and he looked into the calm face of the attacking Saiyan, realizing his mistake. Unlike other fighters he was used to confronting, Vegeta absorbed pain and anger and was capable of using it to empower his abilities where a human fighter would be rendered debilitated.  
  
"I suppose now you're going to whimper out that you want a truce," Vegeta said in a bored tone of voice.  
  
Remember Bulma as she curled up into a miserable little ball of desolation, Yamcha gathered his waning strength. "Not this time," he said and drove his forehead into the Saiyan's injured face, driving both fists into his stomach at the same time.  
  
Vegeta doubled forward and received a knee directly into his left kidney, driving him down into the dirt. Struggling to rise, a boot connected squarely where his tail had been severed and he betrayed a scream of agony at the contact. Purposely digging his heel into the sore scar, Yamcha applied pressure until the Saiyan was actually writhing under him in misery. "Who's going to call for a truce now?" he said, leaning over him with a smile.  
  
Clenching his teeth to keep the screams at bay, Vegeta's hands spasmed in the dirt and he released a wail of rage and pain as he expanded his ki outwards. He unleashed a concussive pressure wave that drove Yamcha into the air and scrubbed the ground clear of any rubble or obstacles for several hundred meters. The ground was smoldering when he clambered to his feet, barely able to straighten up completely as his lower back rebelled to the movement. Yamcha dropped easily to the ground nearby ready to resume the fight.  
  
"Fuck this shit," Vegeta hissed. He cupped his hands to his side and began to power up. Yamcha's eyes widened in instant recognition even as the Saiyan called out, "GALLIC-"  
  
"Uh-oh," the human muttered, watching the bright blue ball form in Vegeta's hands. He immediately started backing away.  
  
"-GUN-"  
  
Gokou and Piccolo suddenly appeared between the two combatants, sensing the release of the fighters' energies and easily homing in on their battle site. The ground was shuddering, a precursor to the building of power Vegeta was collecting for his trademark attack that would obliterate Yamcha and, depending on the angle of the blast, a goodly portion of the earth itself.  
  
"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE!?!" Piccolo roared. He stared first at the livid Saiyan and then turned to look at Yamcha, his glare intensifying.   
  
"Three birds with one stone," Vegeta growled through bared teeth. "Excellent."  
  
"Power down, Vegeta," Gokou cautioned wondering if he had the time to collect the energy for a hasty Kamehameha.  
  
"Screw you, Kakarrot! I should have known that you'd come to that weakling's defense!"   
  
While the two Saiyan's argued, Piccolo took advantage of the lapse and confronted the only human standing on the battlefield. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just step out of the way of Vegeta's blast," the tall Namek asked him in a rough tone.  
  
"I just got back from that hotel the two were holed up in," Yamcha said quickly. He was relieved beyond words that the cavalry had shown up just in the nick of time. With the combined might of all three of them, Vegeta didn't have a prayer of surviving the combat to follow. "I had to put Bulma to bed. That little prick beat her!"  
  
Swinging his head around, Piccolo regarded the Saiyan coolly. "Is that true?"  
  
"Of course it's not, you vomit-colored cretin!" Vegeta roared.  
  
"You broke her nose!" Yamcha yelled back.  
  
Looking very much like a father exasperated by the actions of two brawling children, Piccolo cast an unfathomable look to Gokou who immediately nodded and winked out of sight with his ability of instant transmission. "Consider this a time-out until we get to the root of the problem," he instructed the two antagonists.  
  
"The problem is right over there!" Yamcha told him in exasperation, pointing an urgent finger at the Saiyan.  
  
Vegeta was grappling with the energies of his Gallic Gun and was a bare silhouette against the pulsing energy he was containing. He was nearing critical mass and no longer cared who was in the path of the devastating blast. "I'm going to dance in your ashes," he snarled.  
  
"Both of you- SHUT UP!!" Piccolo bellowed in a fearsome roar. Both combatants' fell silent glaring at one another on opposite sides of the huge Namek.  
  
  
Paur was hovering nearby, keeping a cautious eye on her charge who was sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the far wall through red-rimmed eyes. Before leaving the bedroom, Yamcha had instructed her to keep a close eye over Bulma and defend her incase his fight with Vegeta ended badly. The little changeling was utterly terrified with the prospect of confronting the Saiyan. She was smart enough to know that her life-long friend, while a gifted fighter, had a very small chance of vanquishing his alien foe but he had ignored her advice too many times for her logic to penetrate his anger now. For all of his flaws, Yamcha genuinely loved Bulma, even if it was now more of protectiveness reserved for a sister than for a lover. He had a lot of pride of his own to deal with and losing Bulma to Vegeta was something he just couldn't deal with. Paur kept a nervous eye trained on the door and her fur ruffled in agitation when she sensed a new presence in the living room.  
  
"Bulma?!" a voice called out.  
  
Bulma had been deep in thought until the familiar voice interrupted her brooding and she rose from the bed and walked out into the corridor to meet the new arrival. "Gokou! If you're here than something's happened! Where's Vegeta?"  
  
"He and Yamcha are duking it out at the old battle site," her friend told her urgently. "It's getting pretty serious. Yamcha claims that Vegeta beat up on you."  
  
"Do I look beat up to you?" Bulma snapped at him.  
  
"Well...your eyes are a little puffy-"  
  
"-Vegeta was sharing a memory with me when Yamcha barged in. I wanted to stop him but I was too out of it at the time. I-I think I was in shock."  
  
Gokou's eyes trained on hers in concern. "What happened, Bulma?"  
  
Trying to hold up her face to his, Bulma's bottom lip trembled and she looked away, feeling a profound grief that was not her own. "...I've been receiving thoughts from Vegeta, memories of his past. He showed me what Frieza did to him when he was a child to keep him under control. Oh, Gokou, it was HORRIBLE!"  
  
"Yeah, I know," Gokou admitted in a low voice.  
  
Bulma's eyes widened. "You know?"  
  
"Vegeta shared thoughts with me when I was fighting against Frieza. I saw more than I wanted to," the younger man said quietly.  
  
"He-he raped him," Bulma whispered in a shaky voice. When her dearest friend admitted to a halting nod of consent, she burst into fresh tears and clung onto him, sobbing against his chest. Gokou held onto her, unable to come up with words that could possibly soothe over this terrible realization and decided to let her cry herself out. That was until he remembered the standoff back at the battle site. "Bulma, I have to bring you back with me to try and reason with-"  
  
"No!" Bulma said, pushing herself away from him with a violent shove.  
  
"Things are really tense," Gokou tried to reason with her, which was an exercise he really had little skill in using. "You have to talk to Vegeta and get him to cool down. He's going to kill Yamcha."  
  
"If I show up with you, he'll kill Yamcha for sure, just to prove to me that he can," Bulma told him. "I'm serious, Gokou. If he so much as catches sight of me he'll think I'm there for Yamcha's sake and literally explode. You don't know what he-we've been through these last few weeks. I've seen into his mind. He actually wants an excuse not to trust me so he can go back to being his prior, hateful self. I'm not going to give that to him."  
  
"But, Bulma...Yamcha-"  
  
"-Yamcha knew what he got himself into," Bulma choked in a hoarse voice. "I love him, Gokou. Don't get me wrong. But I love Vegeta more and he's caused so much trouble for us both already. He needs to learn to mind his own business." She scrubbed her eyes with both hands as she added in a near-whisper, "One way or another..."  
  
Swallowing, Gokou was at a loss as to what to do next. Her logic made sense. If she went with him, Vegeta would naturally assume she was there for Yamcha's sake and attack without a second's hesitation. Not for the first time, the young fighter wished that the teenager from the future hadn't been so purposely vague in relating the details between his parents that had led to his unique conception. It was a near impossibility to predict what the correct course of action was on his part but Gokou was reasonably sure that it didn't involve putting Bulma in the path of an incoming Gallic Gun attack. He was prepared to return empty handed when he spotted Paur hovering in the bedroom entranceway. He wondered uneasily just how much the creature had overheard but now was not the time to ask. "Let's go, Paur. Maybe you can reason with Yamcha."  
  
Releasing a nervous trill, the changeling feline went immediately over to him. Before they both disappeared, Bulma passed Gokou a longing, emotional glance that could not quite hide her despair.  
  
  
On the battlefield, trapped between a furious ex-lover and an enraged Saiyan, Piccolo felt a large sweat-drop trickle down the side of his face as he maintained his dour composure. Silently he was cursing for Gokou to hurry the hell up; hoping the fighter hadn't gotten sidetracked by a dessert cart in the hotel room. He was taking too damn long retrieving Bulma and both Yamcha and Vegeta were beginning to hurl threats back and forth, which wasn't helping the tension. Vegeta had powered down a little on his energy ball but the air was still crackling with the increased static his power was creating. It was at such ill-timed moments like these that the Namek was relieved that the smaller Saiyan wasn't able to achieve a Super-powered state like Gokou. Vegeta was already immensely powerful and his sanity was a tenuous thing at best. He was only cowed at the moment because he knew that Gokou was capable of over-powering him if he chose to cross the line and attack. Piccolo mused that if Vegeta ever successfully evolved into a Super Saiyan they might as well all kiss their asses good-bye. There would be no restraining an ego like that.  
  
When Gokou appeared beside him, he resisted the urge to release a lungful of breath in relief. His visible tension doubled when he saw that the young fighter had returned with the wrong female. "What the hell did you bring THAT here for?" the Namek snarled, pointing a taloned finger at Paur. The small creature made a frightened squeal and quickly flew over to Yamcha and wrapped her fuzzy arms around his neck, speaking urgently into his ear. The human protested at first and then went suddenly quiet as he listened.  
  
Gokou didn't answer right away. He cast a sidelong glance at Vegeta who had tightened down into a wary crouch at his arrival and began powering up his attack again in preparation for the battle to come. Yes, that rage that Bulma had described was plainly visible as well as that desire to distrust. Vegeta was just itching for an excuse to attack them all. Like Bulma, Gokou resolved not to be the one to give it to him. It was an enormous gamble but just spiriting Yamcha to safety would not be the end of it. This issue had to reach a conclusion all on its own. "Let's go, Piccolo. This isn't our fight."  
  
"What-" was all the Namek was able to get out before Gokou reached for him and took them back home.  
  
"Hey!" Yamcha yelled in frustration. Paur tugged on a lock of his hair to get his attention and continued her frenzied whispers.  
  
Vegeta burst out laughing. "Where did your buddies go?" he taunted, pleased beyond words that the pair had wisely taken the hint and left where they weren't wanted. He had no feelings for Piccolo one way or the other, unaware that he shared the Namek's reluctant affinity in their kindred dispositions and past ambitions. The person he absolutely abhorred most in the universe was Gokou for achieving the very goal that should have been his birthright and destiny to boast; The status of the legendary Super Saiyan. Vegeta wanted that younger man's heart in his hand he hated him so much but he also feared him, thanks to stupid, superstitious Saiyan bullshit he had heard since he was young boy. It was hard to shake a thousand years of heritage and genetics predisposed to respect the tales of the Chosen One. Now Vegeta was stuck on the planet where that revered Saiyan lived and forced to interact with his fellows. One of whom was cowering directly in front of him.   
  
"They'll be back," Yamcha tried to say in a level voice. "They went to get reinforcements."  
  
"Somehow I doubt that," Vegeta sneered. The air between them was supercharged with electricity as the Saiyan gathered the last of the energy that he needed. "And they'll be too late if they did."  
  
"I realize now that I was wrong. You didn't hurt Bulma."  
  
Vegeta lifted an eyebrow but didn't bother to respond. The blue aura of ki fire began to radiate from his compact form in steady waves, growing in intensity.  
  
Backpedaling, Yamcha said quickly, "I didn't know that the both of you were so close-"  
  
"Gallic Gun-"  
  
"-You love her-"  
  
"!!FIRE!!" Vegeta screamed, unleashing all of his gathered energy in a terrifying discharge that made the ground shake with it's violence. The blast wave closed in on Yamcha in the blink of an eye with the concessive force of a thousand Hiroshima bombs. It gouged out a massive trench a quarter of a mile wide before arcing up and punching through the atmosphere, slicing into cold space like a laser of purest blue light. The following report of the devastating explosion actually reverberated through the clouds in the area like recurring thunder until silence fell on the stark landscape where only ragged breathing could be heard.  
  
Rubbing the small of his back, Vegeta felt his exhaustion begin to close in and fought the sensation as he considered the sight before him. Standing dead center at the start of the blast crater he had created, Yamcha was looking down at his feet in amazement. Damned if, at the last possible instant, Vegeta hadn't parted the huge discharge to go around him and continue its course uninterrupted just to give him the scare of his entire life. It was testimony to the sheer strength of the Saiyan's will; to control a power so huge and be able to forcibly manipulate it to do his bidding. The younger man was unable to betray a look of reluctant respect when he was finally able to raise his eyes.  
  
"You...didn't kill me," Yamcha wheezed, when he was finally able to find his voice. Peeking out from behind the neckline of his shirt, Paur spared a petrified glance at her surroundings. There was a noticeably darker patch that ran down the front of Yamcha's orange shirt but he hadn't noticed the moisture yet. Or the smell.  
  
"Consider it a gift," Vegeta said shortly, raising into the air. "For HER. It'll be the only one I'll ever give."  
  
Without another word, he turned his back and sped off. Yamcha let him go without quarrel even though he knew that the Saiyan had expended virtually all of his power in that dramatic release and would be defenseless now. He had no more reason to fight; Paur had explained the exchange back at the hotel between Gokou and Bulma. He had grossly misinterpreted what he had seen and almost paid the ultimate price for his ignorance. From that day on he resolved to keep his distance from the pair and it was a promise that he kept.  
  
  
It was early in the morning when Vegeta finally reached his destination and settled down onto the balcony where Bulma was waiting. He took one look at the relief on her face and knew that he had made the right choice in returning even if it was against his better judgement. It felt good to have someone actually worry about him and even better to have someone welcome him back. Perhaps if he weren't so tired and sore, he would have pushed her away, sticking to his earlier resolve of putting an end to this farce of a relationship. At the moment however, he tolerated her fussing over his injuries and allowed her to forcibly lead him into the bedroom without quarrel. He fell asleep on the soft surface even before he could tell her how the battle went, lulled into a dreamless, comforting slumber by her pleasant scent and soft words. There was none of that lingering regret of past actions to pester him this time. For perhaps the first time in his existence, he had actually done the right thing by sparing Yamcha's life.  
  
'A gift', he had said. In the background of those words were ones he knew he would never be able to say out loud, 'For the woman I love'.  
  
Unknown hours passed before he woke up again. He was lying on his stomach with an icepack successfully numbing his lower back and a bandage over his right eye. Raising his head, he saw that the woman was lying beside him on the bed. She was awake and staring at his face, her expression unreadable.   
  
"You never asked me the question," Vegeta said at last.  
  
"Which one is that?"  
  
"Whether I killed that idiot ex-lover of yours."  
  
"I know you didn't," she responded with a smile.  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
"Because you wouldn't have come back here, if you had."  
  
It was dismaying how well she knew him. Vegeta was actually at a loss for words against her unflappable logic and he crossed his arms over the pillow and rested his chin on them to stare at the headboard. He continued his solitary deliberations until her hand settled lightly on the back of his neck and he swung his head around to look at her again. She was right beside him, her lips parted in unmistakable invitation. "Vegeta..."  
  
He pulled away from her and sat up. "I should never have showed you what happened with Frieza."  
  
"I'm glad that you felt you could share that memory with me, Vegeta," she told him sincerely. "I needed to understand what happened to you."  
  
"You pity me now," he accused. "I don't need to be an empath to sense that from you."  
  
She came up alongside of him and studied his face. "I can't easily forget what happened-"  
  
"I won't be pitied," he snapped, getting to his feet. He was bare-chested and she could easily make out the bruises on his back. The scar from where his tail had been severed was pink and swollen but if the old wound pained him, he betrayed no sign of it. He was too lost in thought on other matters. "I don't need this place anymore. It's time to resume my training."  
  
Bulma had been anticipating that request but her heart still sank at the sound of it. She nodded slowly. "I'll start packing. Dad says that he's made some improvements on the gravity simulator that he thinks you'll like."  
  
Pulling on a clean shirt, Vegeta stared at her with his left eye, hearing the sorrow in her voice. They looked at one another for one lingering moment, the silence between them burning with a thousand unspoken questions, desires and entreaties. Finally, Vegeta's face tightened into that cold mask that Bulma immediately recognized. It was like watching a sheet of black ice form over a drowning victim and the effect, once complete was dramatic. She was confronting a stranger now. Gone was the Saiyan who had been so gentle with her in the dark of the night, pleasuring her with a touch that was tender and generous and speaking words in a hushed voice that actually comforted her. In his place was the Saiyan no Ouji of Vegetasei; Cold, remorseless, spiteful. Attached to no one.  
  
"I'll see you back at Capsule Corp." she said in an even voice.  
  
Vegeta only grunted and headed for the balcony. Without so much as a backward glance, he was gone from her sight. In his wake, Bulma released a forlorn sigh before donning her own mask and began to pack all of the belongings she had collected in her prolonged stay here. The neutrality and isolation of the hotel room had been a pleasant diversion as long as Vegeta had been here to share it with her but now the vacation was finally over.  
  
It was time to go home.  
  
  
Diverting in his course from his route to Capsule Corp. Vegeta traveled to the Capital's wealthy north quarter and landed in the backyard of an affluent three story townhouse. It was early afternoon and taking advantage of the sun, the person lying topless on the nearby lounge was none other than Dorothy Pereaux. Vegeta stood over her, casting a deliberate shadow over her immaculate form and she pulled out of her semi-doze to raise her sunglasses. She squinted up at him in annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here? Carmilla!"  
  
"There's only enough room in this city for one of our ego's-" he said directly.  
  
Her housekeeper came running outside with her trusty broom. Grabbing her towel, Dorothy covered herself as she stared at him. "I want you to get the hell out of here!"  
  
Vegeta extended his hand towards the house and finished, "-And that ego is mine."  
  
He fired.   
  
  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Chapter Nineteen: THE FINAL CHAPTER!  
(You knew it had to happen sooner or later, folks.) 


	19. Closure

FROM BAD TO WORSE...  
Chapter Nineteen - Closure  
  
  
He had to admit that things were pretty quiet around Capsule Corporation, Dr. Briefs reflected over his afternoon coffee. Spread out on the dining room table were enough desserts to feed an army. On the other end his lovely wife sat with her chin in her hands fretting over how empty the large house was now.  
  
"We should have had more children," she sighed forlornly. "I'm not THAT old, you know, dear. Perhaps we could try again..."  
  
Dr. Briefs coughed into his mug and tried to ignore her. He was sixty-five and had started to look forward to retirement without playing the role of father all over again. It was at times like these that the sixteen-year difference between he and his blond wife became irritating. They had absolutely nothing in common, no similar hobbies and completely opposite interests but Dr. Briefs was content to stay with her for the rest of his life. As long as she didn't start harping on about babies, that is.  
  
"Don't you hear that?" he asked her.  
  
She blinked at him. "Hear what?"  
  
"My point exactly," he said, smiling. He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes and relished the piece and quiet of his surroundings.  
  
"!!OLD MAN!!"  
  
Releasing a strangled squawk, Dr. Briefs almost fell out of his chair at the rough voice shouting from the balcony. He turned and saw that Vegeta was standing in the open patio doors, glaring at him with one narrowed eye. For some reason the other was bandaged over.  
  
Mrs. Briefs immediately pulled out her funk at the sight of the compact alien. "Oh! Welcome back, Vegeta! I've missed you sooo much. How are-" The phone began ringing and she flounced over to the wall, almost dancing in her joy at the familiar sight. "I'll be right back!"  
  
Purposely ignoring her, Vegeta concentrated on Dr. Briefs. "I'm told you've made improvements to the gravity simulator. You will show them to me. Now," he growled and stalked back out onto the balcony and jumped to the ground. From outside the sounds of fire alarms and police sirens had started to wail, shattering the silence that had been so calming only thirty short seconds ago.  
  
Dr. Briefs was struggling to absorb the Saiyan's sudden appearance when his wife turned away from the phone and announced cheerfully, "I'm talking to Bulma! She and Vegeta are moving back home! Isn't that wonderful?"  
  
The elderly scientist let his shoulders sag as he went to the staircase to go outside. "There goes the neighborhood," he muttered under his breath.  
  
  
Once she had returned home, her pockets heavy with encapsulated belongings, Bulma discovered that Vegeta had entered Capsule Three on the premises that housed the gravity simulator and locked the door after himself. That hadn't surprised her, she knew that he had a lot of training time to make up but she could only hope that he wouldn't overdo it. The rest of the day she spent with her parents giving then a Reader's Digest account of all of the things that had happened since they had both left the Headquarters building. That evening, a letter arrived by courier for her. She recognized the handwriting immediately and almost tore it up on the spot. It was from Yamcha.  
  
It wasn't until late that night as she lay in her own bed and unable to sleep that she reluctantly broke the seal and pulled out the pages. There were three sheets in all, in the fighter's nearly illegible script. The first two were predictable; lamentations over losing her and reflections on their past adventures together. Not so long ago, Bulma would have been reduced to tears over the emotion that was poured into the words she read but now her eyes were dry. The third sheet piqued her interest as Yamcha told her what had happened on the battlefield;  
  
"-a Gift', he said. I swear, Bulma, if he hadn't been right in front of me I never would have believed it. He had me in his sights when he released his Galaxy Gun, or whatever the hell he calls that thing, but he spared my life. Not for any concern about me. And certainly not because he was scared about the consequences. No, he did it for YOU. It was the damnest thing I ever saw. I don't know what happened in that hotel room between the two of you (and I don't wanna know!) but whatever it was, I can see that Vegeta is different from that insane alien who tried to take over the Earth. He genuinely cares for you but knowing that arrogant, self-centered, little prick, I bet he never even told you what he said to me, did he? Figures. Shows you what a good guy I am by writing this down in a letter, doesn't it?  
"I'll never tell you that Vegeta will EVER be capable of loving you as much as I do, Bulma. I always have and I always will. But Paur told me some things that were none of my business and it helps me understand the situation between the two of you. He needs you. I can respect that and because of it I promise to keep my distance. Just remember that I'm only a phone call away if you ever need someone to talk to. I will be always be your friend no matter what."  
  
It was signed with just his first initial. Bulma read the last two paragraphs over and over before putting the pages back into the envelope and placing it in a drawer. She could only hope that Yamcha's acceptance wasn't too little, too late.  
  
  
As time moved on at its inexorable pace, Bulma tried to believe that things in her life had finally returned to normal but just couldn't make herself accept that. In the span of only a few short weeks everything had changed; her relationship with her parents, her job, and her own personal ambitions. Nothing was the same anymore. Things that had fulfilled her and gave her life meaning no longer mattered. She returned to her previous position as Head of Research and Development at Capsule Corp. but none of the designs that she had shelved prior to her resignation meant anything to her, except for one. Calling back a suddenly recovered Charles McNeal, she resumed the study and design of the communications chip her father had thought long destroyed and took control of the entire lab and its staff to develop it. This began a subtle power struggle between the two that would eventually lead to Dr. Briefs handing over control and Presidency of the company conglomerate to his only daughter in the next three years and quietly retiring. The prior bids came running back when word spread that she had over-ruled her father on the issue of the chip and would authorize it's implementation. She made more mouths water with the hint of a revolutionary exhaust system that she was currently reviewing the blueprints to. She had only half of the design carefully taped together on a lab drafting table but she was determined to get the rest of it if she could.   
  
She would have liked to resume the morning jog routine with Vegeta now that they no longer had to worry about running into the Super Bitch of the Western Capital; the notorious Dorothy Pereaux. Following the devastation of her home, the tabloids had a field day with various speculations as insurance investigators and fire marshals conducted an inquiry into the explosion. All three levels of the immaculate townhouse had been reduced to one smoldering pile of unrecognizable rubble. Lost was an art collection of rare lithographs, original paintings and fine statuettes. Adding to the incalculable losses were wardrobes from several movies and charred jewelry, not to mention designer original furniture. The only thing that seemed to have been spared was the actresses' rather impressive collection of sex toys, much to the chagrin of one very embarrassed firefighter.   
  
Bulma was less than helpful when a pair of detectives showed up at her door. Apparently, Ms. Pereaux had made some rather fantastic allegations against an Italian immigrant of the name of Vegeta who was staying at Capsule Corporation. Bulma didn't know where the nationality confusion came from but she provided an alibi for the Saiyan courtesy of the Hammorski Plaza for the day of the explosion. Sure, she knew he had left early and was pretty certain he had been the one responsible for the damage but who were the authorities most likely to believe? The billion dollar heiress or some B movie skank? Listening to her rational explanation over coffee, the detectives never even bothered to interview Vegeta. The explosion was ruled as inconclusive without the presence of accelerant agents. It was also thinly hinted that the actress might have started the blaze herself after she had been turned down recently for a movie role because she was over-weight. The fact that she was in debt and viciously adversarial during the investigation had not helped her credibility any. Her housekeeper, the only other witness, had turned out to be an illegal immigrant and was taken away by Foreign Affairs and returned to Mexico. In the span of less than a week Dorothy was reduced to a laughing stock of the entertainment business. She finally decided to move to the opposite coast to get as far away from the weirdo's in the Capital as she could get. Nobody really missed her.  
  
Bulma framed the National Enquirer issue that had Dorothy's face on it with the slogan: 'Actress Attacked by Alien' across the front. She hung it over her filing cabinet and got a well-deserved laugh every single time she looked at it. Sometimes there were things that could top a good old-fashioned catfight and that was pissing off a good old-fashioned vengeful Saiyan. She hadn't given Vegeta any grief over the incident, privately pleased that he had actually spared her life. Two manipulative souls in one day when you included Yamcha. Perhaps the Saiyan no Ouji who had returned in the hotel room had allowed himself to be tempered a little after all.   
  
Once Vegeta had returned to the Headquarters building, he allowed her father to brief him on the improvements he had made on the design and moved inside. There was a living area in the level below the main training chamber that consisted of a cot, a small kitchen and a bathroom. They were just the bare essentials of a personal existence, especially considering the opulence they had enjoyed at the Plaza, but the Saiyan didn't appear to mind. By remaining there he could be exposed to a higher density of gravity around the clock to speed up the precious acclimation time he had lost during his illness.  
  
He remained in there for periods as long as a week before exhausting the food and water reserves and having no choice but to leave the Capsule and replenish the supplies. The Briefs family had gotten used to the delivery van from the neighborhood grocery store backing up to the circular outbuilding and unload boxes of canned goods, pounds of meat, loaves of bread and various other items that would last a large family a month. For a hard-training Saiyan, the huge food order generally lasted eight days and Dr. Briefs wordlessly accepted the huge bill without comment. By now, Vegeta had abandoned the proud resolve of working for his keep and figured that the old goat owed him for the hell he had put him through.  
  
It was during those rare days when the Saiyan actually emerged from the simulator that Bulma would leave her job for the day just to be around him. She always made the excuse to have to go inside and inspect the console and gravity projectors for signs of wear and she always found something that needed repair. In the first month after their return from the Plaza, Vegeta deliberately kept his distance from her. As the weeks rolled by he eventually started watching her as she did some re-wiring or welding. It was that Saiyan technological curiosity overriding the unease he now felt around her, she knew. She was patient and talked aloud to herself of the details involved in her repairs knowing full well that he was silently listening to her every word trying not to be too obvious about it. Often she tried reaching for him but he would only draw away from her. She didn't need him to erect a rapport between them to hear his unspoken question; 'Do you still pity me?'  
  
Looking into his dark, haunted eyes she felt that overwhelming sorrow swamp her entire being. The thought of the powerful prince before her being reduced to an orphaned plaything at the mercy of a crazed tyrant was almost beyond her ability to cope. She could not look at him without swallowing back unshed tears and he would catch her grief with his arcane senses and turn away from her in frustration.  
  
Bulma knew he would accept her touch if she could forget the terrible knowledge she had gained and go to him without feeling sorry for him. It was tempting to try but to do that would be to turn her back on the very things that had shaped the proud Saiyan into the being he was today and lose her valuable insight into his damaged soul. She could not, would not, do that and her visits to the simulator always ended the same way that they began; With a long, appraising look between them that could not quite disguise their mutual despair.  
  
Their awkward dance continued for a few more months. The arrival of the grocery delivery van had become so common that the sight of it was dismissed as soon as it was witnessed. On this occasion however, Bulma looked back from her vantagepoint in the sunroom and watched Vegeta step up to the driver who handed him a clipboard. The Saiyan inspected the pages thoroughly before he nodded and handed the board back. As if that exchange wasn't confusing, what followed was even more so. The deliveryman opened the back doors of the van and proceeded to unload box after box on the lawn. After every eight, Vegeta would encapsulate the pile and then wait for the sweating man to continue unloading. The Saiyan repeated this odd display nine more times before the van left the courtyard.  
  
Seventy-two boxes of food, Bulma counted as she stood at the window. Outside, Vegeta retrieved the outside hose and refilled both the auxiliary and reserve water tanks. The woman was still completely bewildered by the alien's odd house keeping duties until she saw the company fuel truck pull up alongside the Capsule.  
  
"Son of a bitch," she muttered in realization.  
  
  
The key to the transformation, Vegeta concluded, was RAGE.  
  
It was an emotion he figured he had an over-abundance of but he was discovering that there were different facets to such violence. Like the exposed strata of an archaeological dig; the deeper one dug, the darker the earth and the more primal the find. Vegeta knew that he was always on the cusp of one tantrum or another and found that his anger served him well. It had started as a habit that he developed as a key to self-survival and had gotten him into as many messes as it had served to get him out of over the years. That attitude was who he was now; the façade had become the persona and he was now the living embodiment of raw violence.  
  
During his intense sessions in the simulator it was easy to lose himself in that rhythm of destruction until his actions were instinctive and without conscious direction. His mind became a blank, black slate and he wouldn't come out of it until he was hurt or exhausted or both, which was common. He realized he had plateaued in his training but was at a loss to do anything more than keep increasing the punishing gravity. That frustration added to his growing anxiety making him lose his concentration.   
  
More and more often he found himself dwelling on the events that had led up to the near-fatal stage of the V'Nhar; The shock of being dismissed like some common laborer. The depression that made the rationale of wishing to be dead again seem logical. Kami's funhouse hall of mirrors that knew more about him than he did. That mocking, amazon bitch who had successfully reduced him to a desperate whore. Add Radditz and Nappa into the mix and it was small wonder he wanted to expunge the last two weeks out of his memory. His recollections of that precious intimacy with Bulma should have been enough to sustain him and brighten his mood but it was just not his nature. All he could dwell on was how much of himself he had betrayed to her. He was not a man who voluntarily shared the details of his harsh past to weak humans or display compassion but to Bulma he had done both. More than that, he had begun to... care for her. It was the most unsettling thing of all.  
  
He was in the middle of a training session against all five combat drones when his mind lapsed and he thought of how the woman now pitied him. !!HIM!! Screaming in rage, he lashed outwards with all of his power and for just a split second something deep within him gave a little. The power release was like nothing he had ever experienced before; it was raw and blinding and actually painful. Every cell in his body recoiled from the burning sensation and he crumpled to the floor, covered in sweat and shivering at the same time.  
  
Energy displays were a thing he had flaunted ever since he was a small boy. He thought himself accustomed to the act but this time... the sensation was entirely indescribable; like a blind man asked to describe the colors of a sunset. The power had been primal, untapped and, oh Gods, enormous beyond all conceivable comprehension. It wasn't until Vegeta got to his feet that it dawned on him that the attack drones were missing. Upon further inspection he discovered that he had not merely damaged or disabled them with his feral release, he had obliterated them. Holding up the remnants of one charred casing he realized with almost religious awe that the power he had experienced had to have been a precursor to ascending the level of the Super Saiyan. The thought of how close he had come made all of the moisture in his mouth dry up in anticipation. His lifelong dream; the destiny his father had praised would someday come to him. So close...  
  
Like a man possessed he threw himself back into his training with renewed vigor, deliberately making himself angry, or hurt- anything that would cause that emotional break in his internal wall and bring that god-like power forth. Nothing worked. It wasn't until during one of Bulma's inspections that he began to entertain suspicions as to why the power refused to reveal itself. The simulator was beside the Headquarters building where the woman lived. He had totaled the Capsule once in an ill-timed release of power. The discharge that would be the harbinger of the Super Saiyan transformation would be a hundred times more destructive. Perhaps a thousand.  
  
With a mixture of exasperation and dismay, he realized he was unconsciously holding back because he didn't want her to get hurt.  
  
  
The Company fuel truck was just driving away from Capsule 3 when Bulma advanced on the lone Saiyan as he inspected the exterior of the circular craft. "Vegeta! What do you think you're doing?"  
  
He recognized the piercing timbre of her voice at once. "Stupid woman, what does it look like?"  
  
"You're leaving?" she asked in dismay.  
  
"Perhaps I'll recant my earlier judgement of you. Yes, I'm leaving."  
  
"Why? For how long? Where will you go? When will-"  
  
He turned on her, scowling. "I've no time to play twenty questions with you. I can't concentrate here. There are too many distractions. I plan to go some place isolated to continue my training in private. Satisfied?"  
  
No, she definitely was NOT satisfied if the look of outrage on her face was any indication. He obviously wasn't going to make as swift an escape in the Capsule as he had the first time he stole it. "You can't leave," she stated harshly.  
  
"Is that a fact? Why the hell not!?"  
  
"We haven't resolved our relationship."  
  
"We don't have a relationship!" he shouted at her.  
  
"What do you call what happened back at the hotel room?"  
  
He threw his arms up in disgust and stalked a short distance away. There it was; the very thing he knew that would bite him in the ass sooner or later and just because he had been too weak at the time to resist. He should have left her after the first time they fucked but oh no, he had chosen to stick around. He had pleasured her, treated her kindly and now the idiot woman was expecting him to pledge his life to her. There had been a price tag attached to her selflessness after all.  
  
"A mistake," he said in answer to her question.His voice, like his manner was as cold as she had ever seen it.  
  
"A mistake..." she whispered under her breath, her anger deflating. "You don't mean that, Vegeta."  
  
He only stared back as he tried to come up with a defense behind his terse response. The questions and accusations were about to fly and he was going to be ready for them.  
  
Instead, Bulma took a deep breath and moved her gaze over to the Capsule. "I suppose that I should give you a system briefing and the Capsule one last check before you go."  
  
"That won't be necessary. I know everything there is about this craft."  
  
She had been in the process of returning to the main building to retrieve her tools when she spun around and said, "If that were the case, you wouldn't have crashed into the yard the last time you took it for a joyride."  
  
"I ran out of fuel!"  
  
"There was a reserve tank, mister wizard!" She watched his mouth snap closed and gloated over the rare look of surprise on the Saiyan's face. "You stay right there and don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."  
  
Vegeta growled low in his throat but he crossed his arms and did what she said until she returned.  
  
Bulma easily pushed Vegeta's earlier statements aside as she focused on a thorough examination of the Capsule's entire systems. Most times Vegeta's bluster was precisely that; smoke that was used as a cover to prevent the exposure of more sensitive things. She hadn't been looking for a guarantee of eternal love and gratitude from the Saiyan, just admittance that she had been something more to him than a convenient screw. As usual, her expectations were not soothed by his coarse dismissal. Back at the Plaza, she had almost been able to anticipate his moods and behavior but the recent time apart had eroded her insight. He was as unpredictable now as he had been the first day they had met face to face on Namek. Now she could only speculate on his motivations and ambitions in silence, knowing he was not going to willingly share that information to her. His distrust wounded her but she had no way to avoid it. All she could do now was give him his space and pray that he would come back on his own.  
  
To his credit, Vegeta shelved his arrogance long enough to pay attention to what the woman showed him. There were some over-ride commands and little devices attached to the console that he had never before known existed. He had simply ignored them because they had nothing to do with the gravity projectors. In the event of coming across one of Frieza's old roving bands of soldiers, this information just might come in useful so he paid keen attention. He was standing directly beside her as she showed him some re-wiring short cuts and he tried not to get distracted by the smell of her hair or the movements of her body. She was in her element, explaining complex technological details while her fingers moved of their own accord and her intelligence would always be the biggest turn-on for him. Tits were a dime a dozen but a genius mind was a rare discovery indeed.  
  
Near the end of her inspection she discovered two viewing portals that had hairline fractures in the supposedly unbreakable glass. "These are going to have to be replaced," she told him, pulling out her trusty screwdriver. "Help me up."  
  
He had been trailing around after her as she inspected the entire Capsule but now he stopped dead in his tracks. "Go get a ladder."  
  
"Why bother? You're here, aren't you? Now lift me up," she said peevishly.  
  
He didn't make any move towards her. When he crossed his arms she rolled her eyes in clear disgust and walked out of the Capsule in search of a stepladder. Vegeta was still standing in his place when she finally returned cursing loudly and banging an aluminum ladder along beside her. "I don't know what your damned problem is, Vegeta. I'm trying to do you a favor here, you know."  
  
"So am I," he retorted under his breath but she was still muttering to herself and didn't hear him.   
  
She removed both circular windows and spent most of the afternoon searching the storage domes on the property for replacements. She was dirty and disheveled and extremely out of temper with the uncooperative Saiyan when she finally found the spare portals. He was shadow boxing on the lawn when she emerged from the dome and normally she would allow herself to get distracted by the sight of him wearing only his spandex shorts. Not this time.   
  
"You," she said briskly, "Carry these. Over there." She didn't even look back to see if he was following her to Capsule 3 with the heavy windows until she was inside. Sure enough, the Saiyan joined her a few minutes later, carrying the replacements and not happy about being ordered to do it. He dropped them where she was standing, narrowly missing her toes and retreated back to watch her work from a distance, scowling in displeasure.  
  
Struggling with one particularly nasty bolt, Bulma was tightening off the last of the seals when her wrench slipped and she pitched forward off of the ladder. Moving with that unnatural speed of his, Vegeta phased in and caught her. The pair exchanged one startled look before he sneered, "You did that on purpose," and unceremoniously dropped her. Fortunately, he had been standing on the floor by then and it was a relatively short fall on her behind.  
  
"You bastard!" she hissed and kicked him in the shin.   
  
He never even flinched. Bending down over her with that condescending smirk on his face, he told her slyly, "Weak little woman. You're going to have to do better than that if you expect to-"  
  
Growling in rage, Bulma raised her sights and punched him directly in the groin. THIS time he flinched. More than that, he staggered two steps back and regarded her with wary amazement. "You bitch..." he coughed, straightening with difficulty.  
  
Getting nimbly to her feet, Bulma raised her fists boxer-style and danced nimbly around him as he visibly shrugged off the effect of her unexpected blow. She looked so ridiculous prancing around like some effete fairy with attitude that his indignation deflated and he had to betray a reluctant smile.  
  
Lowering her arms, Bulma looked at him wounded that he wasn't taking her seriously. "What's so funny, Vegeta? I can take care of myself!"  
  
He grunted in wordless accord and continued to stare at her, his eyes softening. "You don't pity me anymore."  
  
"Selfish jackass. Of course I don't with all of this bull- oh," she confessed in apparent shock. The knowledge she had gained in the hotel room had finally diminished enough for her not to dwell on it and betray her remorse in her actions towards him. She was brilliantly pissed and that rage had eclipsed everything else. Now she could only stare at him in confusion wondering if he had done all of this on purpose just to get a reaction out of her.  
  
For no good reason, he offered her one brief nod. His voice had lost its usual rough edge when he said, "If you're finished, I'll go make the preparations for launch-"  
  
"Just a minute," she said, coming up along side of him. He grumbled in displeasure that he had almost made a clean getaway but he didn't step away from her as he had before. Nor did he react when Bulma placed a hand on his chest. "Vegeta, I don't want us to part like this."  
  
"We are not a couple," he told her roughly. "What is it that you could possibly want?"  
  
She looked into his face and touched the angle of his jaw. "Closure," she whispered and leaned forward to kiss him.   
  
Her soft lips felt like they brushed up against granite before he pushed her back, shaking his head. "It can't happen."  
  
"Why not?" she asked in dismay. "Give me one logical reason why we can't make love one last time?"  
  
"Watch." He reached out towards the wall and placed his hand flat against the reinforced steel of the Capsule. With a mere flex of his fingers he caused the tips to sink into the metal down to the first knuckle before pulling the digits free. "I have been exposed to the high gravity for too long. I lack subtlety to my strength and I would only hurt you with my touch until I learned some control." He turned back to her. "I made a promise to you, Bulma."  
  
Looking to the clear imprint of his hand etched into the metal, Bulma understood what he was trying to explain to her. She could feel the truth under her palm. His alien flesh had compensated for the overwhelming pressure of the gravity he had forced on himself and was now as hard and cold as marble. Drawing her nails lightly down his chest, they made a raspy sound as if she were doing the act against stone. "That's not true," she said at last. "There's still one part of you that's soft. I punched it, remember?"  
  
His face tightened at the reminder. "Woman, one wrong thrust and I'll tear you open to your throat. Do you honestly want that?"  
  
There was a look on her face that he recognized with a mixture of unease and trepidation. Those genius gears were spinning in her mind, refusing to be sidetracked from her objective. He should have been flattered that she wanted him this badly but coming up with excuses on his part was becoming difficult. He wanted her too.  
  
An idea came to Bulma at long last. Smiling, she dropped her hand to the waistband of his shorts and politely inquired, "So, Vegeta... How has your back been feeling lately?"  
  
  
In the level below the main training chamber, Bulma discovered another part of the Saiyan that was soft to her inquiring senses. Her mouth found Vegeta's again and they kissed long and grandly, their tongues mingling with hot passion as their breathing increased and she squirmed and moved smoothly atop of him. She accepted readily and easily the throbbing length of his existence into her excited flesh, moving her hips at a measured pace that pleasured both of them into an euphoric spell of passion.  
  
Slowly, gently, lovingly sucking Vegeta's tongue, she kept her hands tightly gripped around his wrists, reminding him by that hold alone that he didn't dare touch her. He submitted to her wholly, letting her set the pace for their lovemaking as he forced himself to remain still beneath her, feeling her steaming sheath surround and caress his throbbing rod. The restraint only fueled his excitement, every nerve in his body tingling with pleasure at the depth of his penetration, the head of his manhood jabbing against the doorway to her shivering womb.  
  
There were no words between them during this slow, thorough coupling, only the soft moist sounds as their bodies met and parted. Her breasts, always sensitive, became mounds of excited flesh, the nipples pressing and massaging his muscled chest as she slid along him. Gradually she increased the pace as the first delicate featherings of orgasm began building inside of her, the silken lining of her womanhood clinging lovingly around the entire length of him.  
  
Vegeta's entire body spasmed beneath her and he was unable to choke back a strangled cry as his seed burst like an explosion of fire through his shaft and gushed into her hungrily accepting woman flesh. Bulma was seized by a billowing ecstasy that rose like a flock of wild doves in flight towards the blue sky. Her moist, hot vaginal walls shuddered madly, drinking in his thick essence and letting it mingle with her own sweet fluid with radiant welcome. Their climax went on and on, sealing their newly awakened relationship with pleasure and hope.  
  
Finally, the wondrous sensations began to ebb slowly away as the two lovers stared at one another and the lingering ecstasy of their coupling wafted over them like a sweet mountain breeze. With tears in her eyes, Bulma rested her forehead against his and through a bond he had not consciously crafted, Vegeta heard her whisper into his mind;   
  
'...NOW I can say good-bye...'  
  
  
  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
  
Three months later Bulma sat on the roof of the Headquarters building and looked wonderingly up at the stars. Being in the center of the brightly lit Capital made stargazing a difficult task but tonight the sky was brilliant with tiny specks of light. It was hard for her to believe that less than a year ago she had been traveling amidst that vast expanse of darkness, marveling at its sheer endlessness and feeling the weight of loneliness and homesickness pull at her soul. If Krillin and Gohan hadn't been with her she might have gone mad and now Vegeta was out there, somewhere, completely on his own. Sometimes, when she slept, she could see alien landscapes and strange constellations drift into her dreams like fog, leaving vague after-images in her waking memory the next morning. Surely it couldn't still be a remnant of the rapport they had shared back at the Plaza, could it? Could something like that even exist when light-years separated them from one another? There were too many questions at stake and the only one who could answer them was very far away.  
  
When they had finished their lovemaking Bulma pulled on her jumpsuit and gathered the rest of her clothes and walked over to the stairwell that would take her up to the main level. Pausing, she looked back and saw the Saiyan sitting at the edge of the bed staring sadly down at the floor. It was a sight that she never forgot and if he had asked her to join him in his voyage, she would have accepted the invitation without hesitation. He said nothing, however, and she interpreted that solemn silence as his only good-bye. She left the Capsule without another word.  
  
To her surprise, he didn't leave until early the next morning. She had wrapped a gift for him that evening and slid it into the Capsule late at night while he had been sleeping. It had been a spur of the moment thing; a gift that only the two of them would really understand. Placing her prototype laptop into a box she included a piece of paper with the words; 'In Case of Extreme Boredom, Break Seal:' and underneath of the words she had taped her toenail clippers. She wondered what the expression on his face would look like when he unwrapped the strange gift but doubted he was as surprised as she had been when she had returned to her office after watching his take-off. Resting on her desk were the final blueprint designs to the exhaust system he had told her of back when they had shared their very first kiss.  
  
"I'll be damned," she said with a longing smile.   
  
Later on that day, she realized that the Saiyan had gotten the last laugh when she had gathered up her clothes for laundry and couldn't find the panties she had worn when she had serviced the simulator. And him. Realization hit her like a slap across the face. The thought of Vegeta gallivanting around the cosmos with her used underwear as his pillow was enough to bring a mortified blush to her cheeks. She supposed he deserved some little diversion to help with the loneliness but it still freaked her out. It wasn't long before the mere thought of it had her howling with laughter while her bewildered parents looked on in confusion. As close as she was to her folks, she would NEVER tell them about that!  
  
She was laughing now as she looked up at the twinkling, sable sky. "Where are you now, you little pervert?" she asked aloud as she absently rubbed her stomach. He still had about two more months of supplies left if he rationed himself carefully. If he didn't find a friendly planet to refuel and gather provisions, he would be back by then. What would be his reaction when he saw her?  
  
'I can understand the drive to produce an heir but I'll never know what it's like. Now. My line ends here, with me,' he had told her, his voice betraying his true remorse over the words.  
  
Bulma looked down at her gently swelling stomach and caressed it affectionately as she whispered, "Not any more, it doesn't."  
  
Deep within her womb lay the infant who had foretold his own birth and marvelous conception. The product of two vastly different individuals whose only initial union was to lessen each others fears, if only for a short period in time and find solace in one another's embrace. The child would be the most unique creation in the universe; the product of a genius Earth woman and the last Saiyan prince. Regardless of whatever timeline he existed in, the babe's potential was limitless and his destiny was one of power, wealth and greatness.  
  
Considering his unique heritage, it was not possible to be anything less as Bulma now carried the last royal heir to the House of Vegeta. There were going to be no perversions or violence associated with his upbringing. Nothing that would take a sweet innocent soul and slowly twist it into a nightmarish copy of its captor.   
  
No. She was determined it was going to be raised in a house filled with love and God help anyone who stood in her way...  
  
  
  
The End.  
--------------------------------------------------------------------  
~Darke Angelus 


End file.
